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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402727">Skeletons in the Closet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderstormsablaze/pseuds/thunderstormsablaze'>thunderstormsablaze</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All Elite Wrestling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Wrestling, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Panic Attacks, it makes sense if you read it okay, probably out of character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:02:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderstormsablaze/pseuds/thunderstormsablaze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>How can soulmates live happily ever after if one of them doesn't believe soulmates are real?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darby Allin/Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started out as a one shot that got out of hand. Also it's my first fic so I'm sorry if it's not that great.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darby Allin never believed in soulmates. He thought it was just a thing everyone had been lying to him about ever since he was born, after all, what sort of voodoo magic shit would make it so that he can feel someone else's pain? And who has the right to decide who he’s destined to be with for the rest of his life? Darby isn’t stupid, he knows that’s impossible. Soulmates must be some sort of bullshit that society came up with to excuse their own clumsiness. Have a bruise you don’t remember getting? It’s from your soulmate, because there’s no way in hell you’re clumsy enough to get a bruise without realizing. That was his mentality from a very young age, from the moment people started talking soulmates to him he wrote it off as bullshit. And that was his experience through the event that changed his life forever. His Uncle was driving him home from football practice, but was drunk off his ass. And he didn’t notice when there was a truck right in front of the car, slamming into it at full speed. </p><p>
  <em> Across the country it was midnight for an eleven year old Jon Moxley who was drifting on the edge of awake and asleep, that is until the pain hit him like a truck. He jerked up, eyes widened as his whole body spasmed and the world spun, his hand flew to the back of his neck as sparks of pain shot through his neck and up to his head. His other arm cradled his throbbing ribs as his breathing quickened, a scream lodged in his throat trying to claw its way free before Jon clamps down his jaw.  </em>
</p><p>Darby always told people he didn’t remember much from that night, after all who would expect a five year old to remember something that happened when he was exhausted, but he saw it every night as he tried to sleep. Relived the experience every time he got into a car at night, the smell of alcohol haunting him through his dreams. It turned him to skateboarding, after all he had to find some way of getting around that didn’t involve a vehicle like the one that took away his Uncle and his innocence. Every spare moment he was at the skatepark, at first teaching himself how to maneuver on a board before advancing to learning how to do different tricks with varying degrees of results. The worst was the first time he tried to do a Marty McFly from <em> Back to the Future </em>when he was twelve, holding onto the bed of another skaters truck and having him drive him around while trying not to eat shit. Naturally, that’s exactly what happened. A glorious ten seconds of the wind in his face and not a care in the world, until his board hit a crack in the road. It wasn't a problem for the truck, but was enough to stop the board in its tracks and cause him to fly off, skidding along his side until the friction eventually caused him to halt.</p><p><em> The pain hit Mox at the worst time possible, when he was in the middle of taking the SAT and writing his essay. He wouldn’t be there except he figured what would be the worst thing that could happen, but now he knows. It’s the white hot agony radiating from his right side, it’s the clothes he’s wearing amplifying it by thousands, it’s his lip splitting between his clenched teeth as he holds back a scream, it’s his scream bursting at the seams to let itself out, it’s the tears welling in his eyes as he furiously blinks them back, it’s the fact that he </em> <b> <em>can’t. go. anywhere. </em> </b> <em> because he can’t leave the testing room, it’s how he knew he shouldn’t have come but he did for a stupid reason, it’s knowing his soulmate is out there somewhere in such pain and he can’t do anything about it. </em></p><p>Two years pass with relatively little injury to Darby, obviously there were the occasional scrapes and bruises, he can’t really do anything about that to prevent those, but for the most part they were harmless. Nothing lingered past a week or so, nothing needed stitches, and nothing needed any sort of pain killers to manage. But, that tranquility couldn’t last forever, he was due for some sort of injury, repentance for the peace he was allowed. It was one of those things he didn’t think through before trying, riding the rail down a flight of stairs on his board while the rail was wet from last night's rain, but Darby thought it looked cool, so he did it anyway. He knows he fucked up when halfway down the rail his skateboard starts to tilt to the right, sliding on the water, but he tries to correct it by shifting his weight to the left, after all there isn’t much else he can do besides hope that his balance can keep the board steady for another few seconds before he’s closer to the end of the staircase. Unfortunately, luck turns her back on Darby Allin, and he crashes down on his left elbow, right on the concrete stairs.</p><p>
  <em> It hit him all of a sudden as he had a guy in a delayed vertical suplex during training. The first wave of it washes over him and he curses loudly, immediately dropping the other guy who had the sense to roll through it, turning back to see Jon collapsed in the middle of the mat and clutching his elbow. A few of the guys come rushing over to him, climbing into the ring as Jon curses more and squirms around in agony, the surrounding faces blurring from the tears welling in his eyes. A vague “are you okay” drifts past the blood rushing in his ears as more pain hits him, what was his soulmate doing, throwing himself down a fucking flight of stairs? Who would do such a thing. But that’s what it felt like to him, barely clinging to consciousness and laying in the mat for a good ten minutes before he trusts his knees to support him as he unsteadily rises to his feet, stumbling out of the ring and the building in the direction of the nearest hospital. </em>
</p><p>It was his eighteenth birthday when Darby first showed up at a wrestling school not far from his house in Seattle, striding in as if he owned the place and going up to the man who looked the most official, asking to be trained. The head coach sizes him up and thinks about it for a moment before he nods, holding out his hand for Darby to shake and welcoming him to the school. It takes him a few days to get used to the new routine, he can’t do as much skating as he would like since wrestling takes up more of his time, but he finds that he really enjoys wrestling, he can take everything he loves about skateboarding, mostly the risk and adrenaline rush, and take it to wrestling but combine it with <em> meaning </em>. He doesn’t have to hurt himself for the thrill anymore, never to be acknowledged besides the building medical bills, now he can at least make his pain worth something and tell a good story with it. It’s definitely a change going from crash mats to the actual ring while taking bumps, especially the suplexes on the ring apron. He knew they would be a pain in the ass, but he didn’t expect it to be such a big pain the first few times before he found the best position to fall in. </p><p>
  <em> The first time his ass hurts from a suplex, Jon assumes he just took the bump wrong. It’s not common that he does that after six years of experience in the ring, but he knows himself better than to think he’s perfect and always takes bumps the right way. It isn’t until the second, third, fourth, fifth time that his ass hurts when he wasn’t even being thrown on his back does he realize that it must be his soulmate taking all of these bumps. He knows these sorts of bruises like the back of his hand, some even better since his hand constantly changes due to different scars and nicks in it. These are the bruises a wrestler in training takes as they figure out how their body moves in the ring. He doesn’t enjoy these bruises, he thought he was past them five years ago as he finally figured out the correct way his body moves in the ring, but at least he knows how to handle these and how to make them not last. It’s not like getting road rash all over his side, he can take some bad bumps and come out the other side unscathed. Besides, at least he knows a direction to start looking for his soulmate in, wrestlers in training. It might not be a huge margin, he still doesn’t know what continent they’re on or even their gender, but from the entire world down to wrestlers in training, he thinks that’s a pretty decent narrowing of the odds.  </em>
</p><p>Darby’s wrestling school had been closed for the past few days because of a water pipe bursting in the basement needing to be fixed, and he is already losing his mind. He managed to refrain from doing insane stunts on a skateboard in fear of getting hurt, but that fear has quickly worn off and his skin is crawling with the urge to do something crazy (or as others would call, self-destructive). Everything finally drove him out of the house when the air conditioning broke, preventing him from hanging around all day and maybe working more on his gimmick. So, he takes his skateboard and heads out of the house, skating out to one of the spots he scouted for stunts before getting into wrestling. It’s a three story tall building with a makeshift ramp leading down from it, the ramp doesn’t look the most structurally sound but since when has that ever stopped Darby. He hauls himself and his board to the top of the structure and lines up his board with the start of the ramp, taking a deep breath before pushing off and speeding down it. Or at least trying to, the ramp collapses the moment his weight shifts onto it, causing him to plummet to the ground like a bird with a broken wing in the middle of the sky. </p><p>
  <em> Jon is hauling around shipping pallets when the blinding pain seizes him in it’s vice like grip, squeezing him tighter than he’s ever felt it before, and before it’s been extremely fucking tight. His body instinctively drops the pallet, luckily it doesn’t land on his foot, he doesn’t need more pain at the moment, and his knees buckle under his weight, ankle giving out as well. He lands on his knees with a thud, coughing a few times as a few specks of blood come out, landing on his fingers and shoes before larger chunks come up, landing on the ground in front of him. His head spins, nausea hitting as if he was on one of those spinning teacup rides, starting to gag on some of the blood he can’t seem to cough up quick enough. Tremors shake his body to the core, or was he spasming now, he can’t tell but he doesn’t really care either. Even through the haze of pain, body on the verge of passing out, all he can think of is if his soulmate is okay.  </em>
</p><p>A year later, full of physical therapy and medical bills and living in his car to save some money, a ping from his phone breaks the silence of his car. Darby sighs and stretches out in the seat before grabbing it to see who emailed him. The message pops up, informing him that Always Intense Wrestling in Cleveland, Ohio wants him for one of their Pay-Per-View shows as a surprise guest. Darby reads through the email one more time, checking to make sure it’s legit before making a note of the show on his calendar and sending them a quick message saying he would be there. Once it’s sent off, he turns his phone off and tosses it into the back of his van, a small grin spreading across his lips, his life is going to change because of this show, he can feel it in his bones. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>Jon Moxley always knew his soulmate was a dumbass. The constant scrapes on his knees, elbows, hands, and ass told him that. At first it was relieving, he knew <em> he had a soulmate </em> out there and <em> they existed </em>, but that phase of awe only lasted for a few days. After that, the injuries started to get on his nerves, Jon always wondering what his soulmate got up to while he was getting injured, mostly how the fuck they managed to get that hurt on a constant basis, and getting annoyed that they didn't realize that he was getting hurt too. It had been a week straight of his knees getting deeper and deeper scrapes until he wondered how much further it would be to bone. Though it wasn’t the worst injury he received due to his soulmate, it was the most he had gotten injured in one spot for a long time. That was the first time he punched a wall out of frustration at sixteen years of age, didn’t his soulmate care he was hurting him too? </p><p>
  <em> On the other side of the United States, a ten year old Darby Allin screams as he gets up from a fall, clutching his bloody hand with dislocated fingers with his other. He didn’t think his fall had been that bad, just like all the others he had gone through that day, something easily walked off. He must have landed awkwardly and hurt himself. There wasn’t any other explanation, sure it sucks to think he landed wrong, he thought he was a much better skater than that with all the arrogance a ten year old could muster, but it’s not unheard of. At least it wasn’t his ankle or leg, that would be much worse than his hand. With a fucked up hand he can still skate, but with his ankle he would be immobile on the board for as long as it took to heal, and he can’t have that.  </em>
</p><p>Jon stares at his hand, a smear of red on the brick on the outside of his house, knuckles split and pouring blood down his fingers and three of them out of position. He sighs quietly, not realizing he hit the wall that hard, most of him annoyed he let his rage get the most of him. But a small part, slowly growing louder in the back of his mind, asked him “what if this finally clues in my soulmate and lets them know I exist?” That thought was tempting, continue doing reckless things until it was so reckless that his soulmate had to know who he was because one of his stunts hit national fame, but then he realizes that the stunts would likely hurt his soulmate more than him since it’s unlikely his soulmate has as much of a death wish as him. So he drops that thought, instead moving inside the house to wash the blood from his hand and set his fingers.</p><p>
  <em> A young Darby bites down on his lower lip as hard as he can without drawing blood, the pain from his hand excruciating while Jon contemplates his life. He lets out a yelp as his fingers burn, tears in his eyes welling but he refuses to let them fall, he’s not that weak. After a moment the pain subsides into something much more manageable, something he can tuck away and not let bother him again. With that he climbs back onto his board, heading to the half pipe once more. A few pesky dislocated fingers aren’t going to ruin this day for him.  </em>
</p><p>Another year passes, full of ice packs to cover various injuries Jon had sustained through his soulbond before he finally gets his dream come true. He finds a wrestling school a few blocks from him and takes to it like a duckling to water. Each day after school he appears there to train, 2:30pm to 5pm like clockwork. He would love to train more, but his soulmate often left him bruised and battered which meant he couldn’t do as much as he would have liked. Of course, he could try and push himself to the limit and see if his soulmate gets the message, and naturally that was the first thing he tried in order to teach his soulmate a lesson. But that didn’t have any result whatsoever, in fact it seemed to only make the situation worse, so Jon begrudgingly admitted defeat and just rolled with it, forcing himself to train less just so he could get through the next day without a fucked up everything in his body.</p><p>
  <em> Of course Darby noticed the pain that one day, he would have liked nothing more than to down some Ibuprofen and curl up in bed all day while cursing the world, but he couldn’t. He was eleven, and that meant he has responsibilities like going to school. Normally, he would’ve skipped since he was in so much pain, but he had skipped the past two days and couldn’t risk a third. So he went to school and suffered through gym, normally not an issue, but this day every muscle in his body was on fire, even ones he didn’t know he had, and leaving him so sore he could barely get home at the end of the day. </em>
</p><p>It took months of hard work (and overcoming the injuries left on him by his soulmate) but <em> finally </em> Jon got the notice from his trainer that they were letting him in the ring for real. Well, it’s not like he’s getting to perform on a big stage, in fact there are barely fifty people in the audience, but it’s a stage nonetheless and he’ll take full advantage of it. Someone important could be watching, and he needs to give the best first impression he can. Before his match, he starts pacing around nervously, he doesn’t know why, it’s not like he hasn’t done this before, but there’s an audience for once and he can’t stop the feeling of his stomach doing a downward spiral loop on a skateboard going out of control. He drops to the ground and does a few push ups before pacing around again, trying to get the nerves out before his entrance music hits, he takes a deep breath, and saunters out into the ring. </p><p>
  <em> It was in the middle of a half pipe when the first bruise hit Darby, throwing him off his skateboard and landing on his back. He yelped quietly, completely caught off guard from the impact throwing him off the board and onto the ground, the board coming back to hit him in the shoulder before he grabbed it. He didn’t know what hit him, he was perfectly balanced on his board before the impact that threw him off, but it must have just been a strong gust of wind. Come to think of it he saw the trees swaying before he fell in the corner of his eye, so it was probably just that. As he gets up his back throbs a bit, but he brushes it off as lingering pain from the bruise before climbing up the half pipe again and launching himself down it.  </em>
</p><p>Before Jon knew it he was being booked around the city, nothing glamorous, maybe three matches each week at various promotions, but at least it was something. They were never for much money, he was lucky if he got $20 a show, but he got his name around and that's all that mattered to him. That is, until he graduates high school and realizes he has no direction in life other than becoming a professional wrestler. Which isn't really working out too well for him at the moment. So to pick up the slack, he starts working at various shit jobs, usually something manual labor, to get by until his wrestling career takes off. Usually he would work at one of them for three or so weeks before he skipped work one too many times in favor of attending a show, after all it was wrestling that was his true calling, not hauling shipping pallets around a warehouse all night. Or at least that's what he thought for a good 5 years until he was 23. The hype of being booked for cheap wore off, and he was tired of getting constantly fired from his jobs. It only took being fired for the fifth time in as many days for him to be pushed over the edge, stumbling into the nearest bar he could find and getting plastered before finding some asshole to take out his frustrations on. They shoved each other outside and into an alley between blows, each landing some hard hits and neither backing down.</p><p>
  <em> The first thing he registers was the pain in his ribs, then the throbbing of his shoulder, knee, and head. He hit a rock and his skateboard flipped over, he was going too fast down the hill to stop himself in time before he flew into the bike rack, his momentum wrapping his body around it. His mouth fills with the copper taste of blood; he must’ve bitten his tongue on the way down. His body doesn’t respond for a few moments, insisting he take his time to recover slightly before he can move again. Once the initial pain wears off he realizes it’s not terrible, he can still function but will have a black and blue chest the next day, something that will be hell to finish out the football season at school with, but he’ll manage. Pop an Ibuprofen and keep on going, like he always does when he gets hurt.  </em>
</p><p>Three long and grueling years pass by, Jon slowly taking less and less wrestling bookings as he keeps going because he realizes wrestling doesn’t care about him, so he decides he doesn’t care much about wrestling either. Plus the injuries so lovingly given to him by his soulmate hinder his career, he can’t wrestle with a broken ankle and internal bleeding. So after a few years of not making it in wrestling he decided to apply for a job as a bouncer at a local night club, getting the job fairly easily and having some sort of steady income to help him pay off his hospital bills. One day, he gets a phone call from his old trainer, explaining they had a last minute injury at Always Intense Wrestling in the main event and need a last minute replacement for the next night, and asking him to step in. After checking his work schedule he shrugs, deciding he has nothing better to do that night besides drink and smoke away his loneliness. And that small section of his mind telling him that this could be the night he could potentially meet his soulmate, even though he knows he has a better chance of sprouting wings and flying to Japan than meeting his soulmate, the optimist in him still makes its way through. With that, he calls back his trainer, telling him he’ll accept the job and will see him the next day so the match can be planned out. He lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling and starting to think about a potential story to tell in the ring, more excited about this match than previous ones he’s had without knowing why. But he can feel it’s going to be a good time tomorrow. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon walks into the AIW compound at 8am the next morning, his gear bag slung over his shoulder holding all of his ring gear, some athletic tape, food, water, and a knee brace since his knee was giving him a little trouble. He assumes it’s because his soulmate was being a dumbass, as is typical. He has a lot of various braces around his apartment, pretty much one for every body part, as his soulmate often got hurt in various ways and walked it off even while Jon was writhing on the ground. It makes him think his soulmate is someone quite a bit younger than him seeing as even at 26 the pain of some of these injuries lingers a lot, but it could just be someone who’s constantly high or drunk so they don’t feel any pain. He shoves those thoughts to the back of his mind yet again, he learned years ago it was best to not linger on thoughts about his soulmate because they often distracted him too much and sent him into a depression, something he definitely doesn’t need when he has to focus on a match.</p><p>One of the ring crew spots him as he enters the open area with the ring, walking over to him since she assumed he had no clue where he was going. He didn’t really, he had never been to that building before, but he thought he looked a bit more sure of himself and less like a lost puppy. He’s supposed to be a badass, all tough guy and don’t mess with me, not a lost boy damnit. But he supposes it’s for the best he didn’t make a fool out of himself, and asking for directions isn’t exactly the worst thing possible. </p><p>“So you must be the last minute replacement. I’m Pam, senior ring crew here, they told me to keep an eye out for you since this place can be a little confusing the first time coming here. I’ll take you to the locker room, someone else should be able to take over from there.” Pam explains, her medium length red hair rustling slightly from a fan a few feet away, green eyes darting to his gear bag before up at him. She steps back and starts over to the left side of the big room, turning and motioning for Jon to follow her, so he hoists his bag higher on his shoulder from where it was slipping a little and walks after her.</p><p>She takes him to the main locker room, a handful of men already there but a majority of the participants not at the show yet, for they don’t need to be there until a few hours before the first match. They all had time to prepare for the match in the days beforehand, working with their opponent to craft a story in the ring and having the luxury of time to make the match as good as they can. A luxury Jon doesn’t have this time, barely having twelve hours to work and make the story right, well, more like a bit less than nine hours since they need to eat lunch at some point in the middle of the day, and they need to leave the ring two or so hours before the show. Crowds are allowed into the building an hour before the opening match, and before that they need to let the ring crew make final touches on the ring and surrounding area. There really isn’t a lot of time, and it’s a stroke of luck that his opponent had the same thoughts of getting there early, looking up from the back corner of the room and waving Jon over to him.</p><p>“You’re Jon Moxley then, it’s nice to meet you and finally get the chance to work with you. My name’s Eddie.” The man smiles faintly and holds out his hand, prompting Jon to take it and shake it quickly, “we should start planning the match then. I’ve seen some of your work, you mostly do hardcore matches and fighter style ones, right?”</p><p>Jon sets his gear bag on the ground and sits next to Eddie, turning his torso to face him, “yeah, no flippy shit, it’s more a bar brawl than some sort of choreographed dance like so many others insist on making it. From what I know of you, you’re the same way.” Eddie smirks and nods, prompting Jon to continue, “so there ain’t gonna be any sort of fancy bullshit, I want them to see a real fight, and it ain’t gonna feel like a real fight unless it looks like a real fight.”<br/><br/>Eddie chuckles and nods again, glancing around the locker room to make sure they aren’t being overheard, it’s not very common to have wrestlers not want their peers to know their matches, but the two of them don’t want everyone else to see anything less of as perfect of a match as they can make in the short time available. “I like the way you think. So how about this, we come out and get in the ring, lock up and throw some punches, maybe a few suplexes, then I toss you to the outside of the ring. You grab a few chairs and bring ‘em into the ring, try to hit me with one, and I throw you into a few of 'em on the mat. Maybe bring a few tables into the mix, but mostly stick with the chairs, do a few cutters and clotheslines and shit between spots, I powerbomb you onto some chairs, and get the three count. How’s that sound?”</p><p>Jon tilts his head and imagines himself in the ring with Eddie, mental images of himself and the other man entering the ring and going through some of the sequences laid out for him by the other. “I like where you’re going with this… But I feel like it needs something more to it, you know? Don’t want it to be just another match, we’re the fucking main event and we need to make it feel like a main event.” He falls silent for a moment, still thinking and trying to come up with some moves that would make it feel real, feel like two men genuinely having a brawl with only a slight edge of finesse and the location differentiating it from a real fight, but needing there to be that extra factor in it. “Well, what about…” he starts explaining his plan to Eddie who smirks wider and nods, “We can make that work.”</p><p>The two of them continue talking for another half hour or so, getting the vague outline of spots together and other key points in the match they want to get together before they slide on their knee pads and leave the locker room to practice some moves in the ring. Neither bother with getting their gear on, it’s not the most comfortable thing to wear constantly, and it’s not like they need it to practice and make their plan more coherent. The only reason they bothered with pads is so they don’t fuck up their joints (in Jon’s case, more than they already are), with needless injuries. And so AIW doesn’t have to try and find a replacement for the replacement, that wouldn’t exactly go over well. </p><p>As Jon leads Eddie out of the locker room, a smaller man with blond hair shoves against him as he walks by due to the somewhat narrow hallway, almost knocking him off his feet. From a quick glance, Jon can tell the blond didn’t seem too threatening, more like a teen who never outgrew his emo phase with half his face painted into a skull, long black cloak hiding more black underneath, and a skateboard in hand. The other man didn’t even stop, just shouldering past without acknowledging him and disappearing into the locker room the other two just left. Jon sighs and shakes his head, assuming it’s one of those young wrestlers who finally got onto a PPV and think they got their big break. Well, news flash to them, that doesn’t mean shit, as Jon can say with 100% certainty through his 8 years of being in the business. But it’s fun to see an optimistic kid once in a while he thinks, a small part of him hoping the kid’s dreams come true, but it’s overshadowed by a far more bitter part of him, wondering why he didn’t get that shot if the kid achieves what he wants.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Darby arrives at the building with the PPV early in the morning, or at least early for him. He forgot about time zones and how fucking annoying they were, so he foolishly told the people he would be at the arena at 10am. Usually that wouldn’t be an issue, he’s always awake by 9am at the latest, but he forgot to factor in the difference in time between Seattle and Cleveland. So it’s more like 7am for him, which in his opinion is at least an hour and a half before any sane person would be awake. It doesn’t help his case that he had a late flight the night before, only arriving and getting to his hotel at 4am, leaving him barely five and a half hours to sleep before needing to get ready for the show.</p><p>At least this time his flight was paid for, usually he can’t afford to fly anywhere, forcing him to drive in his shitty half-broken down van from show to show around the North-West. It always takes twice as long for him to drive anywhere than it would any other person since he refuses to drive at night, which is really annoying when he has things to do all day and can only drive for maybe an hour before it gets too dark. Not to mention it takes him ages to get in the van in the first place and convince himself he can start driving and things will be okay. Really, in Darbys opinion, it would be so much easier if he could fly or skateboard everywhere, but sadly the world doesn’t cater to his traumatic needs. Even though he thinks it would make things so much easier. </p><p>As soon as he opens the door to the building the sound of bodies hitting the boards in the rings fills his ears, his body relaxing from how he unconsciously tensed up from nerves. Darby smiles faintly, while the city and experience might be something totally different from what he’s used to, the feel of a wrestling compound never changes. It never fails to put him at ease, something he’s comfortable with and sure of his skills in. He doesn’t know when wrestling arenas were added to his comfort list, well more like it’s arenas and skate parks so it’s not much of a list, but along the way it made its way up there and it's times like these where he’s never been more grateful. </p><p>Darby shoves down the ravens fluttering in his stomach, threatening to come up his throat and ruin his face paint, plastering on an indifferent facade. Not that anyone’s looking over at him, he just entered the building, but he might as well be prepared for anyone who sees him. He doesn’t want to look weak, he knows he has the least experience out of everyone who’s performing, and he isn’t going to give anyone more reasons to pick on him. He can handle himself, and anyone looking at him should be able to see that, so he sets his shoulders back and adopts a stance to take full advantage of his 5’8” frame. </p><p>He glances around the entrance hall, not seeing anyone or any sort of directions to point him in the direction of the locker room where he can drop his bag and board and start warming up for practicing a few spots with his partner. It’s not like he doesn’t trust the people around, they wouldn’t have jobs if they weren’t trustworthy with wrestlers possessions, but he doesn’t have 100% trust in them which makes it hard to part with his things where anyone could take it. And he’s somewhat worried that if he puts them down somewhere he won’t be able to find them again, and he needs his gear and board for later. Gear for the match and his board to get back to the motel he was staying in a few miles away. </p><p>A few moments of him standing around and looking from the area with the ring pass before he hears a door open and two men talking, heading out to the ring from what he assumes is the locker room. It’s as good a lead as any, he doesn’t see anyone around who he could ask for help nor does he want them to see him all confused, so he starts in the direction of the men and hopes for the best. It’s at this point he doesn’t really know why he agreed to go in so early, he could just turn around and leave for a few hours, find somewhere fun to skate for a bit, but he knows the people coming could see him leaving and he doesn’t need that. Plus he sort of promised he would show up around now to work out the dangerous spots in the match, so he shoves down his nerves and heads down the hall.</p><p>He didn’t realize how narrow the hall was until he was halfway down it, the distance between him and the two men engrossed in talking about their match quickly shrinking until he shoves into the taller of the two with a bit of force behind it, unable to stop himself from barreling into his chest. His cheeks flush red and he immediately changes course with the grace of a skateboarder adjusting on the fly, and he pushes open the door to the locker room, beelining to the back corner as far back as he can go, trying to fight down the blush covering his cheeks. The man Darby knocked into comes to the front of his mind, his huge frame compared to his own and the look of faint annoyance across his face. His admittedly attractive face, but Darby shakes that thought away, he doesn’t need this sort of thing distracting him from working, and it’s not like he’ll ever see him again. It’ll be this one show then Darby goes back to Seattle, far from Cleveland, likely to never return. Or if he does it won't be to the same show as the dark ginger haired man, fate doesn’t like Darby Allin and he knows full well that isn’t going to change anytime soon.</p><p>Once situated in the back of the locker room he puts his skateboard down with the wheels facing up on the ground, setting his bag on top of it and situating himself on the bench. He then leans down to unzip his bag, digging out a bottle of clear and a bottle of black nail polish. Normally he would do this before arriving at the arena, not wanting to stink up the locker room with the stench of chemicals, but he didn’t wake up early enough for that so the rest of the people will just have to suffer along with him. Carefully, Darby undoes the top of the clear polish, a steady hand dragging the brush over the nails of his left hand before switching to do the right. He sits there for a few minutes to let the base coat dry, looking around at the few people scattered around the room, though luckily none seem to be looking his way or bothered by the polish. </p><p>Once dry, he starts painting on the black paint, not bothering with making it look super crisp as he knows it’ll be chipped a ton by the end of the day, and it adds to his look if it isn’t completely neat. As Darby sits waiting for the last coat of paint to dry, a fairly muscular young man comes up to him, glancing at his face paint and looking vaguely uncomfortable. Darby smirks on the inside, it seems like his face paint has the desired effect, and now he can’t wait to see the crowd's reaction to it. Or at least he hopes the crowd will care about him, it’s not like they would know him or anything, so he may be getting his hopes up for nothing.</p><p>The other man glances at him again and clears his throat, “so, um, are you Darby?” He asks, eyes flickering all over, as if he doesn’t know what to focus on. Darby fights back a laugh, he doesn’t know why the other seems so uncomfortable, it’s not like he’s really that scary. He’s just half covered in face paint, cloaked in black, with knuckles still raw from two days ago- okay maybe he’s a little intimidating. But the stranger has the height and weight advantage over him, well, he might not be able to tell that since Darby’s in the corner. “I’m Sammy by the way, your opponent today.” The voice cuts through his train of thought, bringing his head up slowly to look at him.</p><p>“That’s me.” He says simply, hiding how uncomfortable he feels behind a calm face even as he internally screams. Social skills were never one of his specialties, tell him he’ll have to jump out of a plane and he’ll do it in a heartbeat, but actually talk to someone who he doesn’t know? He hates that almost as much as driving in the dark, which is a fairly impressive place on his list considering there isn’t anything he hates more than the later. “I guess we should start planning spots.” His voice almost quivers but he manages to hold it fairly steady, watching as Sammy nods and takes a step back, “yeah, that would be a good idea”. </p><p>Darby sighs quietly and pushes his back off from the wall, stretching his back and hearing it crack a handful of times before letting himself relax again. He motions for Sammy to sit next to him which he immediately does, allowing Darby to get a better look at how muscular the other man is. He nods to himself, looking them up and down as a plan formulates in his head, the ghost of a smirk washing over his lips. “You look like you could launch me pretty well… How about this, we fuck around in the ring a bit then you toss me into the barricade outside. Then we can have some fun on the outside of the ring before you throw me back in.”</p><p>Sammy tilts his head a little and contemplates the idea, he really has no idea what to think since he doesn’t know Darby, all he knows is he should have an easier time since he’s bigger to do some moves. But doesn’t the other guy know being tossed into the barricade would hurt? Maybe he’s a masochist… “uh, yeah. We can do that, sure. But you sure you won’t be too hurt? Being tossed into the barricade sucks, it’s even worse if it's from inside the ring.”<br/><br/>“I’m sure.” A vaguely predatory smile turns up the corners of the man with the face paint, somewhat eager for the bursts of pain he’ll get from all the physicality of the match. He loves the adrenaline rush from it, the feeling of being alive and invincible to injury, defying death himself. It’s what drew him to skateboarding in the first place, and what keeps him coming back to all of these intense matches. Unfortunately, Darby knows Sammy isn’t really a hardcore wrestler, not accustomed to the thrill of blood pouring in his ears and out onto the mat, but as long as Sammy doesn’t keep questioning his moveset and doesn’t fuck up in the ring too badly he thinks things will go okay. </p><p>The two of them talk for a few more minutes, well more like them skirting around each other and not wanting to question the other too much, even if they didn’t have the same ideas, they were too scared to speak up about it. Sammy definitely more outwardly scared, something that brought a bit of comfort to Darby who was hiding it a lot more, and while not trying to scare the other man Darby thought it was kind of hilarious to be thought of as scary rather than a nuisance like most saw him. After a beat of silence, Darby sighs and stretches his back again, “should we go to the ring and try some of these out?” He asks, voice slightly raspy and watching as Sammy nods, queueing him to get up and lead the way out of the locker room to the ring. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>Meanwhile, inside the ring Jon and Eddie were working through some moves, working on one sequence of holds and submissions they wanted to add in the middle of the match. Jon floats over Eddie’s back, still holding him in a headlock, before tightening his hold and latching his legs around the other’s waist, pulling back on his head so Eddie’s back arches. Eddie growls and rolls so he’s on top of Jon, elbowing him in the gut and getting him to break his hold before scrambling up to his feet, Jon a heartbeat behind as they face each other again. </p><p>Jon smirks and pants quietly, a grin spreading across his face as he pushes his slightly damp hair back from his forehead. “I think we got it, that was pretty good.” He says after a moment, jumping in the ring a little and stretching his shoulders back. He winces as he pulls his right one, an old injury acting up again which he definitely doesn’t need for now. Hopefully he can fix it by taping it up and keeping it that way until the match and maybe through the match. He really doesn’t want to have to go to the doctor and get more tests done on it. Spending a few grand on a doctor telling him to rest and be more careful in the future isn't something he's eager to repeat, there are more important things he needs to pay for. </p><p>Eddie nods and catches his breath opposite him, “yeah, that last run through was smooth.” He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, a faint soreness from being held in the submission hold so many times but he knows it’ll go away before the match. He looks at Jon, noticing his reaction to moving his shoulder, “hey, how about we take ten and get a break before going through the finisher?” He suggests, knowing Jon wouldn’t stop unless he was too hurt to continue, something he definitely doesn’t want to happen before they get to have their match. </p><p>Jon glances over at Eddie, fairly certain he’s stopping just to give him a break, but he sighs quietly before nodding, “sure.” He mutters, stretching out his back and popping it in a few places before making his way over to the side of the ring and climbing out, holding the bottom two ropes open for Eddie who steps through behind him. He doesn’t want to be rude, after all Eddie was graciously giving him a break so he can rest and tape his shoulder in place so he doesn’t hurt himself. It’s just now he realizes how much pain his soulmate has caused him so that he barely registers it in the first place, “fucking soulmate…” he mutters bitterly under his breath, Eddie glancing over at him with a cocked eyebrow, prompting Jon to shake his head. He doesn’t need to bitch about his soulmate anymore, he has to stay focused.</p><p>In the hallway, he bumps into the same emo kid from earlier and glances at him, noticing how the kid flinched faintly from him bumping against his right arm. It was such a miniscule action barely anyone would have noticed it, but he’s a wrestler who’s used to reading cues such as that, so it doesn’t escape his notice. He can’t help but notice emo boy has a follower, a bigger guy in a panda hood but who looks much less intimidating than teen angst if it were a person. Jon thinks he should really learn the kids name, but he figures he won’t ever see him again after this so there’s really no point to it. It doesn’t cross his mind until much much later that blond skater boy happened to flinch in the same way he does when someone hits his injured side.</p><p>Jon moves past the two young men and walks into the locker room, heading over to his gear bag and hearing Eddie step away to presumably go to his own things and take care of whatever he needs to. But Jon’s more concerned about getting his shoulder taped so nothing else happens to it. With practiced ease of hands that have done this dozens of times, he peels off a length of athletic tape from his bag and places it from the top of his shoulder on the side closer to his back, the other end on the middle of his arm. He repeats the process with another strip of tape, this time on the top closer to his chest and leaving the other end to overlap with the first piece, making a sort of eye with the strips apart from a small gap on his shoulder. To test its strength, he moves his shoulder back and forth a few times, making sure he has enough mobility to continue working. </p><p>Once satisfied he taped it enough, he tests out each of his other joints, particularly his left elbow, both his knees, and both his ankles, the ones which have given him the most issue in the past. Luckily all of them seem pretty intact, though he double checks them to make sure, then goes on to his other shoulder and elbow, hips, neck, and back. It wouldn’t do for one of them to also go unchecked and give him an injury in the middle of the match, but all of them seem to be fine for the moment. Jon drops the tape back in his bag, hearing it hit his ring gear with a thud, and taking out his bottle of water, drinking a swig from it before setting it on the bench next to him. He digs out a towel from his bag and wipes his forehead with it, sitting on the bench and resting his elbows on his thighs and taking a few deep breaths. Partially to check over his ribs and ability to breathe, and partially to give himself a quick break from the intensity of the morning so far. </p><p>A few hours pass of working with Eddie both in the ring testing out sequences and out of the ring brainstorming possible spots before the clock strikes six pm, signaling them that they need to get out of the ring. Go get food or something, relax before the show, savor the last moments of peace before getting banged up with the pain lingering a few days. In the short break, Jon leaves the building still in street clothes, walking to a nearby hole-in-the-wall diner so he can get a burger and fries before his match. It’s not a meal most athletes would go for right before a match, but he figures two hours is good enough between eating and performing. Besides, he’s the last match of the night, so it’s more like four or five hours before he has to get in gear. With that, he walks into the diner and orders his meal, taking it outside and sitting on a bench on the sidewalk to eat. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>Darby and Sammy worked in the ring for a few hours in between the time when others were using it, Sammy judging how much force he had to throw Darby with to get the spots the other man wanted and Darby working out the best way to move his body so the impact looked bad but didn’t feel terrible. It’s a fine line, and one he’s not the best at finding, but after a few tries he manages to find a position that shouldn’t fuck him up too badly, or at least that’s the goal. Skateboarding the few miles back to his motel wouldn’t be the most fun thing if he was really busted up pretty much anywhere. Ribs would be a fucking pain to breathe with, he needs his upper body to carry his gear back, and of course his legs to push himself. So, no injury tonight.</p><p>All too soon they get kicked out of the ring so the crew can finish setting up, needing to add turnbuckle pads and a new ring apron while making sure the necessary things are lurking under the ring. Darby sighs and strides back to the locker room, Sammy following him, and heads right over to his bag, digging out his wallet and pulling out his skateboard from under the bag. Through the surrounding sound in the locker room, he hears Sammy leave and go to his own things, Darby assumes to prepare for the match. He shrugs, not giving a rats ass what the other is doing, and walks out with his skateboard under his arm, waiting until he gets out of the building to set it down and start off.</p><p>Darby scans the buildings nearby for some sort of food, he doesn’t need anything fancy or healthy, he just needs calories to give him enough energy in the ring. A few minutes away, he spots a man sitting on a bench near some place that smells like meat, and he shrugs, it’s probably good enough food there that might not give him food poisoning. Upon closer inspection, Darby curses under his breath, of course he just had to run into attractive asshole, fate must really hate him. The blush lingering under his cheeks threatens to surface and he tries to force it down, only managing to make it look like he’s flushed from skating over. His eyes dart over to him every few moments, hoping that the other man doesn’t notice him being weird as he walks into the diner.</p><p>He didn’t feel any gaze on him which is a good sign, it likely means he didn’t notice him since Darby thinks he’s rather good at picking out if he’s being stared at. Maybe fate decided to be nice to him for once, he thinks the past twenty years are good enough reason and he’s due for some luck sooner or later. But, that doesn’t explain the faint disappointment he feels crawling into his head that he wasn’t important enough to be noticed. He does his best to shove that down, he doesn’t need these sorts of feelings for a man he’ll never see again, but he never was the best with emotions and more often than not what he wants isn’t how it goes. So it’s not a huge surprise when his traitorous mind brings up the image of the hot guy's face.</p><p>Inside the diner Darby walks up to the counter and orders himself a burger, fries, and soda, slapping down enough cash to pay for it before waiting for his food on one of the stools at the counter. His face paint attracts some curious stares from other customers at the restaurant, at least that’s what he assumes draws them to him, but he ignores it all, instead focusing on picking at his nails and studying how his knuckles are healing until his food gets pushed in front of him. He mutters a quick “thanks,” before adding some bbq sauce to his burger and starting to eat. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the food hit his mouth, causing him to wolf the rest of it down as fast as he can before starting on the fries, able to eat those a bit slower. </p><p>After the food is done, Darby lingers in the diner for a few more minutes, gathering his thoughts and focus for the match ahead and savoring the relative quiet of the diner to do so. Of course there’s chatter in the diner, it would be fairly uncomfortable not to have that ambiance, but it's leagues more peaceful than the locker room back at the building and he doesn’t know the area well enough to find a secluded spot so this will do for now. However all good things must come to an end and he composes himself, grabbing his board from where it was resting at his feet before walking out of the diner and starting to skate back to the arena. A flutter of disappointment hits when he doesn’t see ginger on the bench, but then a flash of anger washes over him, why the fuck should he care about some guy who he’s barely seen. </p><p>He skates back to the building, taking his time along the way and savoring the feel of the wind rushing in his ears. In order to get the feel of it in his hair more, Darby skates past the building a few times, somewhat hoping no one noticed because he didn’t want them to think he was high or lost, but the overpowering part of him didn’t really give a fuck. He’s allowed to do what he wants with his time as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else. Well, there’s that obsessive majority who believe in soulmates and that voodoo crap, that someone else can feel the pain he experiences based on fate, but it’s about as fake as dragons roaming Seattle. Impossible. </p><p>A few more minutes of skating around and trying not to get lost, Darby sighs and stops when he finally passes the arena again, picking up his skateboard and darting in the alley next to it. There were a number of fans waiting outside for the ten or so minutes before they were let into the building, and he isn’t eager to have to interact with any of them. Not that they would know who he was or anything, but they would probably pester him and try to get him to take them inside so he decides it’s best to avoid them at all costs. </p><p>Once inside the building he starts towards the locker room again, the sound of voices stopping him in his tracks. He decides he doesn’t exactly want to be around other people, his social battery has been drained by working with Sammy all day and he wants to try and find a quiet place for himself to relax for a while before the show. After wandering around a little bit he finds a quiet spot in the rafters above the arena, watching some of the people come in and be seated while others catch up with friends they must have made at other shows. His legs hang off one of the beams, straddling it so he doesn’t fall off, and head leaning back against the wall as he gets lost in his own thoughts.</p><p>All too soon the arena fills up with people, the 1,000 strong crowd buzzing with excitement as the opening match draws nearer and nearer. Darby calculates he doesn’t have to be back in the locker room for around half an hour since his match is third out of eight, so he decides to stay perched up in the rafters for as long as possible before braving the locker room. The first match passes rather quickly, a simple squash match to warm up the crowd before the second match of the night. These two women get a much louder pop, rather famous locally and intriguing to those who didn’t know who they were. </p><p>Somewhere around the midway mark Darby sighs and pushes himself off the wall, dropping his skateboard underneath him and using the sound of the crowd to cover the bang as it hits the concrete. He swings one leg over the rafter so they’re on the same side and lowers himself down, clinging to the beam with his fingertips before dropping the remaining few feet to the ground. Then he picks up his skateboard and maneuvers through the people at the back to get to the locker room, letting the crew know he’s there and needing to do some final touches on his face paint.</p><p>The crew member in charge of sound nods once she sees him and waves him back to the locker room, the door opening and causing the conversation to stop for a moment as the wrestlers look to see who joined them, only returning to their previous talk once they realize it’s one of them. Darby stalks back to his things and sticks his skateboard under his bag, pulling out his cracked phone to check that his face paint isn’t too smudged, It isn’t, so he puts it back and looks around the room, eyes landing on that one ginger man.</p><p>He never intended to keep looking at him, hell he never thought someone like that would be his type, but somehow this man keeps being his exception. His eyes constantly dart towards the other, even while telling himself that he needs to stop and focus on the match, or at least other people, but everything keeps coming back to him. It’s as if fate is pulling him towards the other, but it’s not like fate is a thing. Darby doesn’t know what keeps pulling his thoughts to him, but he tries to block them out, knowing he can’t get his hopes up of seeing him past that evening.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Jon feels the gaze of someone else in the locker room on him and he looks up from the bench where he was stretching out, gazing around and trying to find who keeps staring at him. Eventually he settles on teen angst, the piercing blue eyes constantly flickering over to him. It should make him uncomfortable, Jon doesn’t like being stared at and especially not from some punk ass kid who doesn’t know anything about him. But…. It almost feels welcoming. Though he pushes that feeling down, he doesn’t know why it feels that way but he doesn’t like it. A spark of resentment lights within him, the emo kid was getting on his nerves and he didn’t like it. It’s no wonder he looks so out of place in the corner, he doesn’t belong at a wrestling show, or even in the business. He should go back to whatever mosh pit birthed him and leave the professionals to do their work.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Darby double checks his wrist tapings before he hears the crowd roar and the bell ring, signaling the end of the second match. With a sigh he stands up and stretches out one last time, jumping a little to warm up his leg muscles. He spots Sammy getting up from where he was closer to the front of the room and walks over beside him, the two of them heading out and down the hall to the entrance ramp. The first notes of Sammy’s music hit and Sammy smirks, jumping a few more times to pump himself up before he strides past the curtain and to the ring, the curtain obscuring the rest of Darby’s view. What feels like an eternity stretches by before the bass of Darby’s theme hits and the familiar sound of Wicca Phase fills his ears, switching him fully into character as he brushes aside the curtain, stepping out onto the ramp. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darby climbs into the ring and runs around in it, climbing up onto the middle rope on each of the turnbuckles and staring out at the crowd, getting a mixed reaction of boos and cheers. But at least he’s getting some sort of reaction, it would be so much worse if he got no reaction at all. After a few moments he jumps down and into the ring, shedding his cloak and tossing it aside, the referee handing it off to a crew member outside of the ring while Sammy takes his turn getting the crowd hyped up. </p><p>Minutes or milliseconds pass, it’s hard to tell in the ring, but the bell sounds and he and Sammy start circling each other in the ring until springing forward, locking up and moving around the ring as they each try to get the upper hand. Sammy backs Darby against the ropes, pinning him there until the ref gets to 3 and he’s forced to break away, holding up his hands and taking a step back before delivering a hard chop to Darby’s chest. He yelps and clutches the spot where the chop landed, hand slipping from where he was holding himself up on the top rope and catching the middle rope so he doesn’t fall.</p><p>
  <em> In the locker room Jon winces, his hand ghosting over where Darby’s is but on his own body. A chop came out of nowhere, at least he’s pretty sure it's a chop. But, there’s no way either of the guys in the ring is his soulmate, emo boy is definitely not his type, too creepy and angsty for his taste. And it couldn’t be panda kid either, he’s definitely not attracted to cocky as fuck barely 20 year olds. Then he remembers it’s like 8:30pm, there must be a ton of wrestling shows operating at this time, or even schools having sessions. So it could be any of those other people, yeah, it must be one of them. Because nowhere in any possible future could he stand being with teen angst or panda kid.  </em>
</p><p>Darby feels himself being hauled to his feet again and glances quickly at Sammy, judging how far away his hand is from his chest before ducking under the hand and sprinting past his left side, launching himself off the opposite ropes to build up speed and barreling back at Sammy. He grabs his arm for stability and leaps up to the top rope, pausing for a split second to balance himself and turn around before using the momentum to pull Sammy into a deep arm drag, rolling through to the other side of the ring. The momentum also carries him to his feet, immediately switching around to face his opponent again, watching Sammy slowly stand up before running at him and drop kicking him, doing a back roll away.</p><p>Sammy springs up opposite him and Darby launches himself at him again, aiming for another drop kick but coming down on his back as Sammy dodges out of the way. He arches his back off the mat, face contorting in pain as his hand reaches around to his back. Sammy smirks and watches him for a moment, playing up the crowd before picking up Darby and launching him out of the ring and into the barricade like they planned. The cold steel bites into Darby’s skin, the breath knocked out of him, ribs bending under the force of the impact. He sinks down to the ground and gasps for breath, turning his back to the barricade to recover and staring wide eyed at Sammy, almost like a caged animal trying to get away from its hunter.</p><p>
  <em> The ribs come out of nowhere, a sharp gasp escaping before Jon clenches his jaw, steeling himself against the pain. His muscles tense up, breath coming in shorter quick intervals, feeling along his ribs to see if they’re cracked or just bruised. He can only hope they’re just bruised, letting out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding when he doesn’t feel any unevenness, wincing from the breath. It’ll be a huge pain in the ass to wrestle with inhibited breathing, but it’s not like he hasn’t wrestled in worse condition before thanks to his soulmate. It should get on his nerves how much pain his soulmate thrusts upon his unsuspecting body, but he’s gotten used to it and it’s more terrifying if he doesn’t get hurt at least once a day. At least the pain lets him know his soulmate is alive. Jon sighs and reaches into his gear bag, pulling out one of those instant ice packs from his bag and placing it where his rib hurts the most, hoping it’ll dull the pain enough before his match. </em>
</p><p>Out by the ring Darby stares as Sammy controls the crowd from inside the ring, giving him a few moments to recover as best he can before they keep working the outside. Sammy steps between the second and third ropes, jumping down from the ring apron and stalking over to Darby, a huge smirk on his face. He drags him up by the shoulders and turns with Darby to gather momentum, tossing him into the barricade on the other side. Quick as lightning pain shoots up and down the smaller man's spine from where it hit the steel, face contorting into an over exaggeration of the pain (but it’s still really fucking painful), his body sinking down to the harsh concrete. </p><p>Sammy stalks over to him and tugs him up by his short blond hair, Darby snarling at Sammy and trying to twist his head to bite him but Sammy holds him just out of reach. The stronger man hauls the smaller one to his feet, throwing him in the ring and diving in after him as the ref gets to 9 on the 10 count which could have disqualified them both. Darby staggers to his feet, glaring at Sammy with a gaze so cold it could freeze the sun, rolling under a clothesline and popping up on the other side of the ring. He shakes his head to clear it, rolling his shoulders back and wincing as he does, cracking his neck and launching himself at Sammy once more. </p><p>
  <em> At this point he sort of expects the additional pain from his soulmate so it doesn’t hurt as much as the first two times when he was caught off guard, but it still isn’t pleasant. He gets another ice pack from his bag and activates the coldness in it, sliding it behind him and pressing his back against it, trapping the cold between his skin and the wall. It’s the best way to hold it in place without tape he found, leaning his head back against the wall too and closing his eyes, waiting for more pain to come. A part of him wants to curse out his soulmate, scream at them about the agony they put him through, but Jon gives in to exhaustion instead, drifting in and out of consciousness as more bruises appear all over his body. Luckily none as bad as the ribs and spine, but none are pleasant. But they have the added benefit of not letting him fall asleep, not that anyone would let him sleep through his match but it still keeps him from being too disoriented from being woken up. </em>
</p><p>The next minute or so passes in a blur, or was it more like ten seconds, Darby doesn’t know at this point. All he knows is his limbs are starting to get exhausted and the soreness from the previous bumps are setting in, and he’ll absolutely hate skating back to the motel and getting up the next morning. But, it’s not like he isn’t constantly sore, he’ll just need to take an ice bath after the match and he’ll call it good, or at least as good as it’s going to get at this point. His thoughts almost make him half a second late breaking Sammy’s fall from where he was on the top rope, sending them both barreling onto the mat. Darby shakes his head and pushes everything aside, only focusing on the match and not fucking it up.</p><p>Darby rolls to the other side of the ring as Sammy springs up from where they fell, turning to face each other once again. Darby rushes towards Sammy who leaps over him, then he dives to the ground to try and trip him, the other flipping over him, and landing in the center of the ring in his signature pose, laying on his side, upper body propped up on one elbow and legs crossed, kissing his other bicep with a wink. A low growl escapes Darby’s mouth, glaring daggers at the other man and using the ropes to propel him into a drop kick to the head. Or at least trying to, Sammy springs up and grabs Darby, pulling him up and holding him vertically for one, two, three, five seconds before dropping him on his back to the mat. Darbys back arches off the canvas, scrambling back into the corner as Sammy flexes and winks to the crowd. </p><p>
  <em> The sound of blood rushing to his ears breaks up the calm, then comes the signature headache and pins and needles in his hands and feet that come with being held with his head as the lowest part of the body. As soon as he feels the impact on his shoulders, Jon braces himself for the additional stinging sensation that comes, wincing and shaking out his arms and legs as blood pumps back into his limbs. He pulls up his legs to his chest, looping his arms around them and resting his forehead on his knees, steadying himself since he hadn’t been held in a vertical suplex for that long in six or seven years, not since he got so big and strong that no one wanted to lift him. It’ll take some getting used to again, the feeling of taking all these bumps as if he’s the smaller guy, and he isn’t looking forward to it, but he guesses for his soulmate he’ll get used to it. </em>
</p><p>The smaller man pulls himself up to his feet in the corner, shakily pushing off the turnbuckle and stumbling towards the center of the ring only to be met with a roundhouse to the head by the broader one. The impact sends Darby to the canvas, a growl emitting from his throat as he rolls away again and gets up using the ropes, still extremely shaky on his feet. Sammy smirks and beckons for him to try running towards him again, to which Darby shakes his head and refuses to leave the corner. Visibly frustrated, Sammy scowls and rushes to the corner, attempting to slam into him but Darby quickly propels himself up and over the other man, rolling to the other corner and turning on his heel. Then, he rushes back to the corner with Sammy in it, slamming into him as hard as he can before rolling back once more.</p><p>Darby rests for a moment with his back against the ropes, watching Sammy run towards him with his arm extended, only to lower the top rope and duck under the arm, sending the other over the rope. But Sammy manages to hold onto the ropes and stay on the ring apron, shouldering the smaller through the second and third ropes before using his back to flip into the ring. Before Darby can turn around Sammy grabs him, setting his body against his shoulders with his chest to the sky, holding him there for a moment and smirking at the crowd then drops Darby’s head onto his rising knee, letting him rag doll to the canvas. Sammy slides down next to his limp body, hooking his far leg and leaning against his chest to get the three count. A wide smirk washes across his face as he stands up, his music playing and gesturing to the crowd. Meanwhile, Darby rolls out of the ring, slinking into the shadows and to the back, wishing it was his music filling the building. </p><p>
  <em> After the impact rattles his teeth, Jon assumes the match is over, he doesn’t know anything besides the impacts from what’s going on but he knows enough about wrestling and has been in the business long enough that he knows something like that is a finisher. So he starts moving around, taking inventory of his body and moving the ice packs to the places with the most pain, checking to make sure he doesn’t need to tape anything else up. Luckily, it seems his soulmate got through the rest of the match with relatively little injury, and he has about an hour before he needs to do his thing which should be enough time to let his body stop hurting. Well, that’s given his soulmate isn’t a huge fucking idiot, but he has hope. At least for now, and hopes his hope hasn’t been misplaced.  </em>
</p><p>Of course Darby knows it’s through no fault of his that he lost, it’s not like if he did things better he would have won, he knows this. But it doesn’t make losing any easier, no not at all. He desperately wishes the bookers allowed him to win, but he understands why not, the crowd knew Sammy and they didn’t want to put much stock in him, a young guy who likely would never pass through these walls again. Nevertheless, a loss is a loss no matter how it gets spinned, and to Darby that justifies sulking a bit, finding a quiet corner away from wrestlers and the crowd to think and calm himself down a bit. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>The next hour passes in a blur of moving ice packs around his battered body and preparing himself mentally for his match, bound to be just as if not more physical than his soulmates. A small part of Jon thinks the pain from his match is payback for his soulmate giving him so much pain, but the larger, more compassionate part of him insists he try to be as careful as possible in his match so as to not inflict more pain onto his soulmate. Sometimes he hates how much he loves his soulmate seeing as the amount of pain they give him should really put him off whoever it is. And make him want to get payback, but for some reason that’s not the case. He really wants to be petty, but can’t bring himself to be.</p><p>As the start of his match draws closer Jon feels himself getting more and more nervous, ravens fluttering around in his stomach. He doesn’t know why they’re starting, he hasn’t been this nervous about a match in a long fucking time, but something feels different about this match. Like there’s more at stake than just a paycheck. But nothing has been said to him about it being anything more than just another show, so these nerves really have no fucking place haunting him. They just won’t go away, even as Jon takes some deep breaths while trying to calm himself, his match drawing ever closer as the clock ticks down the time. </p><p>
  <em> By this point Darby had calmed down a bit and he’s starting to get restless again, sitting in the corner was nice but he needs something more. The adrenaline from earlier had finally worn off and left him feeling empty, needing another rush to get back into the land of the living. But he doesn’t know any skate parks nearby, and isn’t in the mood to find a bar to sneak into and get into a bar fight. So with a sigh he settles for climbing up into the rafters, sitting above the ring and watching the end of the match unfolding under him. Legs kicking off the beam and almost unbalancing himself a few times, but each time he manages to hold on, his heart racing each time his weight shifts from its equilibrium.  </em>
</p><p>All too soon the last match finishes up and Jon paces around the locker room, stopping to do a few push ups to work out the nerves before he spots the worn out guys coming back into the locker room. A quick glance around lets him know Eddie isn’t there, and a few moments later he hears what must be the other man's entrance music. Jon lets out a long and heavy sigh before pushing out of the locker room, striding down to behind the curtain and peeking past it to see Eddie climbing into the ring before letting the curtain block his view again. The other music cuts out, arena lights dimming, and the crowd falling silent, waiting with baited breath. Until Jon hears the familiar sound of his music start up, steeling himself and sweeping aside the curtain to stride out, head held high, confidence radiating off of him. </p><p>He waits at the top of the ramp as the crowd cheers, smirking around at them and leaning back on his heels before storming down the ramp to the ring, diving under the bottom rope and launching himself at Eddie. The bell rings, almost drowned out by the crowd, and him and Eddie start pummeling each other, locked up in the middle of the ring as they exchange punches and jabs to the face. That is until Eddie gets his foot up and kicks Jon back into the corner, cracking his neck and knuckles before launching himself at the other man, elbowing him back in the corner. Jon growls and shoves him off and to the middle of the ring, charging in and clutching him in a side headlock, only releasing it when he gets a few elbows to the gut for his trouble.</p><p>
  <em> Darby meant to jump down as the other match ended, he swears. He was going to go and collect his paycheck then hop on his skateboard and get some energy out before passing out in the motel. That plan never included ginger as the main event. As soon as Darby saw him in the ring, he knew his plan was fucked, he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. At least not without watching ginger wrestle and staring at him, this time with an excuse. So he lets out a sigh and settles back in the spot in the rafters, staring down at the match going on under his feet.  </em>
</p><p>Eddie grabs Jon’s arm and twists it behind his back, Jon wincing and trying to make his way over to the ropes bust Eddie just pulls him back to the middle of the ring. He then tries to drag him to the ground but Eddie shakes his head, tugging sharply on his arm and lowering himself enough to provide too much resistance to the maneuver. A low grunt escapes his mouth as he twists his upper body under the arm holding him in place, sliding out of the now loosened grip and pulling him into another headlock. The momentum drags them to the canvas, Jon baring his arm under Eddie's throat and pulling his head back, pressing his stomach to his back to keep him pressed to the mat, trapped under his weight. </p><p>“Tap goddamn it,” Jon growls to Eddie who continues to struggle in the hold, shaking his head with determined stubbornness, refusing to give in to the hold and crawling at the mat, dragging them over to the ropes and gripping the bottom one like a lifeline. Jon only lets go when the ref gets to four on his count, pushing himself up and raising his hands, stepping away from Eddie so he doesn’t get disqualified. Eddie pulls himself up and cracks his neck, leaning back on the ropes and pushing off, Jon able to step aside on the first pass but not so lucky on the second, a shoulder sending the ginger man to the ground. Driven by instinct, Jon sits up on the mat, scanning the ring to find his opponent, only to be met with a hard kick to his spine, a shout of pain escaping him as he rolls to the outside of the ring to recover.</p><p>
  <em> This sort of match usually wouldn’t hold Darbys attention, pretty slow and lots of grappling, none of the flashy spots and speed he’s used to doing in the ring. But of course the ginger has to be the exception again, somehow keeping his eyes glued to the match and having to consciously not cheer when ginger takes down the other guy. As he watches ginger get shoved to the mat a twinge of pain in his upper back shows up but Darby doesn’t think anything of it, assuming it’s a cramp from craning his neck down for so long, turning his attention from the match to get himself into a more comfortable position. Then his back throbs again and his hand flys to it, rubbing the sore muscles and cursing internally, stretching his back out a little to try and stop the pain before settling in a different spot in the rafters to watch the match more. </em>
</p><p>Jon stumbles around the outside of the ring, always keeping an eye on the inside of the ring until he goes under the ring, pulling out three metal chairs and throwing two in the ring, keeping the third for himself as he dives under the bottom rope after them. Eddie smirks and immediately picks up one of the chairs, opening it and placing it in the middle of the ring, the other being placed back to back with the first one. The smirk causes Jon to glare at him, rushing in with the chair and aiming it at the other man's head, Eddie only barely ducking out of the way as the chair rushes past his head, so close it would have brushed through his hair were it half an inch longer. His momentum sends Jon into the ropes chest first, giving the other man the chance to press against his back and wrench the chair from his hands.</p><p>Quickly, Eddie grasps Jon by the waist and pulls him off the ropes, hauling him over to where the chairs were set up in the ring. After adjusting his grip, he tries to suplex him onto them, driving his spine right into the steel, but Jon struggles enough to not be lifted off his feet. Eddie growls and hammers the other man's chest with his fist a few times before trying again yet to no avail. As a final ditch effort, he shifts his weight to one foot and kicks Jon hard along the thigh then quickly shifts back to a stable position, launching him back onto the chairs. The loud sound of skin on steel rings through the room and Jon screams, rolling off the chairs while clutching his back to try and stop it from hurting so much. Eddie scrambles over to him and hooks his legs, the ref starting the three count Jon barely kicks out of in time.</p><p>
  <em> It’s some voodoo shit, or just a really weird coincidence that Darby feels a stabbing pain in his spine at the same time ginger takes the steel to the back. That is, until he remembers he went spine first into the barricade during his own match and he hasn’t moved his spine a lot after the match, so it’s probably just his muscles spasming and reminding him he needs to stretch them out. This explanation satisfies him, something logical that can be backed up with evidence, none of that supposed magic that doesn’t exist. With that, Darby turns in the rafters so he can stretch out his spine well, turning his attention away from the ring and focusing on making his back hurt less. Pain flares along his back, but he assumes it’s just from him moving around, because it can’t be anything else. </em>
</p><p>The kick out reveals a wave of frustration over Eddie’s face, pulling himself up with the ropes and laying in some kicks to Jon’s side before the other man finally gets under the ropes and to the ring apron, forcing Eddie to stop. Jon catches his breath and watches Eddie walk to the middle of the ring again before sneaking back in through the ropes, quietly picking up a chair and slamming it against the other man’s back. The impact knocks the air out of Eddie’s lungs and he gasps, eyes flying wide open and back spasming in pain. Jon swings with the chair again, but this time Eddie is prepared, grabbing the chair mid swing and ripping it out of Jons hands. </p><p>For once in a match, Jon does the self preservation thing, immediately backing up and out of chairs reach. It’s strange, really, and it took him a heartbeat longer than usual to remember what he had to do, usually he never backs down from a bump no matter how bad. But this time he had been having rib pain for the past few days, not to mention the additional injury courtesy of his soulmate (who he wishes he could slap, before remembering that means slapping himself) and he couldn’t risk further injury. Except backing away didn’t make the chair stay out of reach for long, Eddie slips behind him and brings down the chair on the back of his shoulder blades, hard enough to make a loud sound but soft enough to not do much damage, though that doesn’t stop the loud string of curses flying from Jons mouth, and a faint copper taste filling it for some reason. </p><p><em> Blood wells in Darby’s mouth, spilling into it from where his bottom lip split between his teeth, shooting pain radiating from his upper back. His breath comes in ragged gasps, all the air knocked out of his lungs and the shock stopping him from being able to draw in oxygen, leaving him a fish out of water, desperately trying to get back to it. The match underneath him goes blurry, vision swimming as his body tries to get air back, moments drawing out into millenia as he fights to make. his. fucking. lungs. </em> <b> <em>WORK.</em> </b> <em> His body unresponsive until with a shudder the burn in his lungs dissipates and his vision slowly returns to normal, tears welling in his eyes that he refuses to let fall. He doesn’t understand, why does his back keep hurting? He didn’t think he hurt it that badly in the match earlier, and magic isn’t real. All he wants is answers, and to not have to shell out thousands in medical fees to figure out what the fuck is wrong with his body. </em></p><p>The match continues in the ring, Eddie kicking the two unmanned chairs behind him and to the corner, keeping them away from the other man desperately lunging towards them, trying to even the odds a bit. The crowd stays split between the two men in the ring, some cheering and some booing as Eddie keeps Jon away from the chairs, but up in the rafters, the half skeleton boos internally, silently wishing the ginger could get to the chairs and get some revenge. Meanwhile, the ginger man makes one last dive for the chairs, diverting to the side as the one held in the hands of his opponent gets too close for his liking. He uses the ropes to give himself some speed, ducking under the chair swing and spearing Eddie to the canvas, knocking the chair out of his hands, finally. Jon hooks a leg and gets a two count before the other man kicks out, keeping the match going.</p><p>Eddie recovers rather quickly, pushing Jon off and across the ring before climbing to his feet and glancing towards the chairs in the diagonal corner, eventually deciding they weren’t worth the effort. He leans back on the ropes and runs towards Jon at the middle of the ring, shoulder tackling him to the mat and dropping to cover him, again only a two count before Jon manages to kick out of it. Frustration sinks its sharp claws deep into Eddie, anyone can see it. He hooks his leg this time, trying for another pin, but Jon kicks out of it at one. Eddie growls and pushes himself up, Jon doing the same a half second behind as they retreat to opposite sides of the ring, rushing towards each other in the middle. But, as Jon went for a shoulder drop to return the favour, Eddie twists and winds up a spinning back punch, fist colliding with Jon’s jaw and knocking him to the canvas. The other man pins him yet again, this time the ref’s hand finally hits the mat for the third time, bell ringing as Eddie’s music starts again, the victor standing and raising his arm, leaving the other battered on the ground.</p><p>
  <em> Darby can’t believe it as he stares down at the match, a shocked disbelief crashing over him like an ice cold shower, chills going down his spine. Ginger lost. He didn’t expect this, every fiber of his being expected ginger to win, like it was a fact of life. Like how the sky is blue, fish live in the ocean, and soulmates don’t exist. Something so set in the fabric of the universe that nothing could ever make it untrue. Until it happened. Darby knows he shouldn’t have had so much belief in ginger, he didn’t even know the other man, had only seen him passing by, but in those brief interactions he knew the other was something special, and a loss like this was as far from ginger as Darby thought possible.  </em>
</p><p>A few moments pass while Jon collects himself, pushing the pain down and regaining trust in his legs that they could carry him at least as far as the hallway leading to the locker room. He doesn’t want to look weak for the fans, and has too much dignity to ask anyone for help. With that, he determinedly rolls out of the ring, steadying himself on the ring apron as the world spins like he’s on a teacup ride. His legs turn to jelly then to slightly more stable pool noodles in the span of a few seconds, finally able to get his feet under him and push away from the ring, unstable as a newborn deer, and stumbling over to the hallway. </p><p>His clumsy feet almost trip him up, swaying like a drunk he hauls out of the club he works at ten times a night, but with a lot of effort he makes his way to the hall, immediately thudding all of his weight onto it not a moment too soon, knees buckling under him. It takes him longer than he would like to admit to get his feet under him again, the entire time oblivious to the world. He doesn’t know how long he was there either, it could have been hours, it could have been fractions of a second, Jon has no idea. All he knows is when he regains control of his mind, the arena is empty and there’s hardly anyone around. With a sigh he pushes his weight off the wall, using his hand to steady himself on it as he makes his way back to the locker room. He pushes open the door and stumbles over to his gear, ripping open a protein bar and taking a bite of it, opening a water and downing that next. </p><p>Finally, a moment of calm. Jon finishes his bar and water, setting the empty bottle and wrapper on the bench next to him, and rests his head in his hands. Taking a minute to just breathe, recover from the match, and get himself mentally prepared for the short drive back to his apartment. The soft patter of rain sounds on the metal roof of the building, starting quiet but slowly increasing in intensity until a full on thunder storm rages around the building. Jon sighs and pulls out his phone, looking at the borderline shattered screen and checking how long the storm is supposed to last: through the night and into tomorrow. Slowly he starts packing up his things, returning everything to its proper place before changing into street clothes in the empty locker room. His jacket, keys, and wallet come next, shoved haphazardly into pockets before he picks up his bag and walks out of the room, flicking off the lights behind him.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Darby sits up in the rafters for a while, almost falling asleep multiple times before the shift of gravity forces him awake else he falls fifteen or twenty feet to the ground. Normally he wouldn’t really care, but he kind of needs to get back to his motel, and is already deep enough in medical debt he doesn’t need any more expenses added to it. His mind wanders, mostly going back to ginger and wondering what he would be like to touch… maybe even hug… A quick shake of the head, dissolving any fantasies of the other man. The ghost of a touch he never noticed until it was gone leaving his shoulder, where he assumes ginger would rest his arm. Darby closes his eyes, waves of frustration pouring off him and practically drowning the near empty room. He wants to stop thinking about ginger, needs to focus on other things and not get obsessed with one person he’ll never have.</p><p>But he can’t help it, all roads lead back to ginger. A low growl springs from his throat before he clamps it down, head shaking more violently this time, until all thoughts of ginger escape his brain. For the most part, but Darby assumes that’s the best it’s going to get for a little while, so he concedes and leaves it at that. He looks over at the clock on the wall, seeing it past the time he should have been gone from the arena. He curses, lowering himself from the rafter as quick as his battered body allows for and dropping to the ground, rolling through the impact so he doesn’t injure his knees from the force of the drop.</p><p>Out of nowhere the rain starts. Darby frowns, he didn’t expect there to be rain, but then shrugs; it's not heavy, he can still skate in this. It’ll be more of a pain in the ass, sure, but it’s doable. And much better than having to sleep at the arena because he didn’t remember to check the weather earlier. But once he gets into the hall going to the locker room the rain falls harder, soon married with the sound of thunder echoing in the building. Darby curses again, louder this time and with more anger, not at all eager to sleep in the arena. Because as wild as he is, he’s smart enough to not skate during a thunderstorm. He sighs and leans his back to the wall at the end of the hall closer to the former arena, sliding down it and pulling his knees to his chest. He rests his chin on top of them, sighing and listening to the raging storm around him, eyes slowly closing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW for a panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last thing Jon expected when he walked out of the locker room was to almost trip over a body. In his defence, the body’s small, shrouded in shadow, and silent. And he thought he was the last one in the building, the locker room was completely empty and he didn’t hear any ring crew in the main area before the rain started. The body lifts its head and Jon stumbles back half a step, heart jumping to his throat before he remembers zombies aren’t real. In all honesty, him, a 6’4” over 200 pounds man shouldn’t have been scared of what seems like a floating melting half skull, but he can be paranoid sometimes. </p><p>“What the fuck-” he exclaims, eyes darting over the body and trying to figure out who it is before remembering emo kid from earlier. “What are you doing here kid, it’s late. Go home.” A beat of silence only filled from thunder outside, the harsh rain pounding. He doesn’t know why the kid would still be there, it’s not like the arena really had anything special in it, or anyone important was there he had to talk to. Plus emo boys young, shouldn’t he be out in mosh pits and making his hair into a fringe or something?</p><p>Darby didn’t think anyone would catch him, he was too tired to go back into the locker room and it was like 3am, way past the time any sane person would be awake and at the building. Now, that raises some questions about his own sanity, but he never claimed to be sane. The multitude of stunts landing him in the hospital (or that would land him in the hospital if he wasn’t so stubborn) should prove he isn't all that sane. Though there’s no way ginger would know that. And it’s just his luck that ginger caught him, he’s being stared at by a hot man and now has to explain why he doesn’t have anywhere to go when any normal person would. </p><p>“The fuck does it matter to you asshole, mind your own fucking business,” Darby growls, drawing his legs closer to his chest and glaring up at ginger, “I can do whatever I want.” He pulls the sleeves of his cloak over his hands and clenches his hands into fists in it, fighting down a blush from hearing gingers voice. Out of all the things he expected, he didn’t think the other man's voice would be that deep or raspy, or sound that good to him.</p><p>Jon raises an eyebrow and lets his gear bag drop next to him, fairly sure he’s going to be there a little while. Not that he has anywhere else to go than back to his empty apartment, so it's not a big deal. “You sure kid? Because it looks like you’re too young to even be here, where’s your mom.” He looks around in the dark, checking to see if the kids parents are around; he doesn’t think the kid could be any older than seventeen, though he isn’t exactly the best at guessing ages.</p><p>It takes Darby by surprise how young ginger thought he was, though there’s a case to be made for his maturity level that he isn’t much older than a teenager, he isn’t that young. His cold blue eyes stare at the other man, fighting the urge to flip him off, “what’s it to you, and I’ll have you know I’m twenty years old, just as capable of being here as you are, fuckwad.” He raises an eyebrow in return, inviting in some sort of conflict, whether it be verbal or physical. Really, he’s just bored and a fight would provide some entertainment, and he wants to know how handsome ginger looks when he’s angry. </p><p>Twenty? Well then, Jon was way off with that guess. Hey, he never claimed to be a genius, and he makes a point to stay away from teenagers, he forgot how they looked. But this kid is starting to get under his skin, the constant name calling and attitude raking at his skin like metal claws, it’s not something he’s a fan of. “Don’t gotta be so aggressive, jeez.” He raises his hands in a somewhat defensive manner, more for show than anything because he’s pretty confident he could take emo boy if it came to it. “I was just curious.”<br/><br/>“In that case fuck off, no one asked you ginger.” He mumbles, cheeks faintly turning pink before he obscures the unpainted side in the shadow, or at least hopes he does. Because it would really bring down his intimidating factor by a few hundred points, and he really doesn’t need that at the moment. He doesn’t know if he has a chance with ginger, but looking weak would definitely ruin any of those chances. Though his hypothesis was right, ginger looks really handsome when he’s irritated. </p><p>“I think almost tripping over you here makes it my business teen angst.” Jon shoots back, a little curious as to why he moved his face into the shadow, but deeming it not his business. He rolls his eyes and glances around again, more out of habit than expecting to find anything there, “but really kid, what are you doing here. It’s late and storming, there’s nothing for you to do. Go sleep or something, you look half dead.” </p><p>“I can’t leave okay, you happy now?” Darby scowls, gaze darting down to the floor as he grits his teeth, body tensing up again. He would love to be out doing something, or even sleeping, but the stupid thunder prevents him from leaving the building. It briefly crosses his mind that maybe he shouldn’t be this rude to ginger, but given the fact he’s going to have to sleep in some corner until the next day when hopefully it’s less stormy he thinks he’s allowed to be short tempered. </p><p>The words are a sort of slap to the face, Jon didn’t expect that response. Maybe he should have, he hadn’t seen emo kid around before which should have clued him in that he wasn’t a local, but he was never the best at putting together pieces. In fact when it comes to people he’s about as oblivious as a dog is able to speak English. “What do you mean you can’t, how the fuck did you get here?”</p><p>Darby rolls his eyes, too tired to put effort into stopping it, body slowly untensing. So ginger didn’t want to pick a fight, that kind of sucks, but maybe something else will come of it. “I skated here,” he gestures to the skateboard next to him, “it wasn’t thundering this morning.” A roar of thunder drowns out the last bit of his sentence, but he figures ginger can probably piece together his problem. Well, it’s not like Darby hasn’t slept in worse places, at least the building is somewhat warm and he has room to stretch out if he can fall asleep.</p><p>“Kid….” Jon sighs and shakes his head, eyes darting to the skateboard then back at the man hidden in the shadows. He really isn’t in the mood to take a stray back to wherever the fuck he was staying, but he knows his guilty conscious would shout at him for the rest of his life if he just left him there. His hand runs through his hair before he sighs again, “c’mon teen angst, I’ll take you back to wherever you’re staying.”</p><p>Darby stops and stares back at ginger, shock clear across his face as he didn’t expect that. An overwhelming part of him wants to say no, he doesn’t trust himself in the car with someone he’s that attracted to, and it’s dark, so cars are a no. But he doesn’t want to sleep in the arena overnight if he can help it, and it’s been a long time since his last panic attack so he’s cautiously optimistic that it won’t happen this time. “Alright ginger.” </p><p>Jon nods and picks up his bag again, slightly worried emo kid will rob him or something in the car but he shakes his head to clear away the thought, he should have more trust in him. Nothing’s going to happen, just an added five minutes to his drive back home. He watches teen angst get up and disappear back into the locker room, emerging with his bag, skateboard tucked under his arm. “Where are you staying?” He asks, heading towards the door closest to where he parked his car.</p><p>“That shit motel off route 90.” Darby mumbles, he doesn’t fucking remember the name of it, “I turned in here from the left if that helps.” He trails after ginger, grimacing slightly at the thought of being soaking wet but he knows it won’t be a long drive back. As soon as he spots how dark it is outside his stomach drops through his feet, landing a solid six feet or more underground. All his bravador falls away, and he’s left a trembling little boy watching his uncle get carried away by paramedics in the dead of night. He hopes ginger doesn’t turn around and notice as he steels himself again, determined to get through the ride, it’s only five minutes, it can’t be that bad.</p><p>A small chuckle escapes Jons lips before he can stop himself, he knows that motel pretty well, he’d had to stay there a few times when he was in too much pain to get home. “I know the place.” He mumbles, he doesn’t even have to look up the address to it he’s been there so many times. Maybe that’s not the best thing, but it’s happened. He pushes open the door and steps into the rain, walking quickly to his car and unlocking it, tugging open the driver's seat and getting in. His gear bag gets tossed unceremoniously to the back seat, a hand running through his hair to get the majority of the water out.</p><p>Darby gulps and makes his way into the downpour behind ginger, fighting the urge to run back into the building as a crash of thunder rings in his ears. The dark creeps into all his senses, pulling his attention in a million different directions, all screaming danger and at him to hide somewhere safe. But he grits his teeth and darts into the car next to ginger, pulling the door shut behind him and digging his nails into his palms in an attempt to ground himself. He pointedly looks away from the windows and windshield, trying his hardest to imagine it’s daytime out, and ignoring the stifling darkness drowning him.</p><p>Jon glances over at emo kid, slightly concerned that he looks like he’d rather be running through hell than in the car with him. He didn’t think he was that intimidating or unfriendly, right? “Hey teen angst, what’s your name?” It’s now he’s wishing he knew how to interact with people more, he may not really care about the kid but it’s not great to see him so uncomfortable. “I’m Jon by the way.” He adds as an afterthought, thinking that might help him relax a bit. </p><p>“Darby Allin.” He replies, trying to keep his voice steady but completely failing, hopefully ginger- Jon doesn’t take much notice. It’s going to be weird to think of ginger by name, he’s not sure he’ll get used to it anytime soon. Though it might be a slight distraction from the dark, trying to figure out Jon, he doesn’t think it will be enough. Not even ginger can slow his racing pulse, his ragged yet sharp breathing, the continuously building dread in his veins creeping towards his head like poison.</p><p>Jon nods and diverts his attention from emo kid- no wait- Darby in the other seat, turning on the headlights and windshield wipers as well as pulling on his seatbelt. He nudges Darby to get him to do the same, waiting until he hears the click of the belt before taking the car out of park and driving out to the road and to the motel. From beside him, he hears the sound of cloth rustling and looks over, eyes widening when he sees what’s happening. “Fuck- are you okay?”</p><p>“I-I’m fine…” He’s the furthest fucking thing from fine. All Darby can see is a truck coming out of nowhere, the car spinning out of control, the pain clear in his mind, sinking into his bones even though he knows he’s safe. His body won’t listen to him, trapped in slow motion from what happened so long ago, only the seatbelt keeping him from launching himself out of the car as fast as possible and running. In no particular direction, just away. Nails dig at his arms, scratching deep at his skin, trying to crawl out of his body.</p><p>“No you’re not kid- Darby. Fuck…” Jon pulls over to the side of the road, as soon as the car’s still he turns and looks over at him, staring lost as he watches dark red marks form all over his arms, lines rising. He reaches out and takes both his hands, holding them away from his arms, “relax kid, you’re safe. Nothings going to hurt you, okay?” The hands shake violently in his own as he stares helplessly, he’s never seen anyone act like this before and has no idea what to do, the echoes of thunder and flashes of lightning amplifying his confusion.</p><p>“Y-you can… can keep going… I-I’m okay…” He can barely get through it without almost breaking down in tears, voice hitching as he fights back tears, weakly struggling against the hands before realizing they’re pretty much the only thing keeping him grounded. So he grips them harder, a voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s hurting ginger but he doesn’t care, he needs to know <em> something’s real </em>. It doesn’t take much longer before tears stream down his cheeks, gasping for breath as he looks over at Jon as if he’s his lifejacket on a sinking ship.</p><p>“You’re the furthest thing from okay right now.” He mumbles, pain shooting from his hands but he ignores it, knowing that emo boy needs it. It’s times like these when he wishes he had more experience with people, knowing how to help them when they were in distress. But all he can do is try and help him through it and have him be alive on the other side. “What do you need from me kid?” He asks, trying to soften his voice so it’s not too disturbing for him, or at least that’s his goal. </p><p>Somehow the tone of ginger's voice makes it worse. The tears keep flowing, and his mind replays those few moments -eternities- on repeat, unable to be shut off. Even the possibility of unconsciousness wouldn’t be an escape, the memories would only follow him there. And in the depths of his mind there’s no separation from reality, memory, and fiction, Darby learned that the hard way. “Dark…” he gasps, “car…” at least he hopes that gets his message across, it’s all he can say before clamping down his jaw on a scream threatening to explode out, shakes practically turning into spasms.</p><p>It takes a moment to click in Jons head before he pieces together the fragments offered up by the other, and he’s still floundering in what to do to help. But at least this is something, he can fix something and try to make it easier. “I’m going to let go of one of your hands, but only for a moment. Okay Darby?” He mutters, carefully prying one hand out from the steel grip, heart shattering as he sees Darby spasm more, the tears rushing faster. As quickly as he can he turns on all the overhead lights and digs out a lamp from the glove compartment, kept in there incase he ever got snowed in during the winter, turning it on and setting it between them. Then, he grips the trembling hand tight, “I’m here, you’re okay…”</p><p>All he can focus on is the two hands keeping him in reality, the one taken away leaves him drifting in the ocean with nowhere to turn, his head questioning whether the sole remaining point of contact is real or not. The light barely helps. He can vaguely register he can see, but it’s too little too late, and it’s not good enough to rescue him from the depths of his mind. A ten foot rope reaching into a hundred foot chasm complete with unscalable walls. The hand returning helps a tiny bit, adding a few feet to that rope, but nowhere near enough. That truck still obscures his vision, and he’s still at the storm's mercy. </p><p>Jon wishes he could google what to do, something, anything to make teen angst feel safe. But he can’t let go of him, even those few precious seconds when getting some light were too long to take away the touch keeping the kid tethered to the land of the living. So all he can do is try and ground him more and keep him from falling too far into his head, at least he hopes the kid isn’t too far gone by now. “Hey kid talk to me. Tell me what you need, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” </p><p>“I-I… I don’t…” Darby gasps, nails digging into the other man's hands, blinking away tears and trying to see anything but nothing registers. The truck keeps playing in his mind, the sound of metal hitting metal on repeat. His stomach churns and he turns away to dry heave, nothing coming up only because it’s been hours since he last ate. He hunches over to try and fight the nausea but he can’t stop it, too exhausted and weak to fight it down as another spasm wracks his body. </p><p>Jon frowns and squeezes his hands back lightly, running his thumbs over his battered knuckles to try and calm him down. “Relax… I’ll keep you safe little skeleton. Trust me.” He whispers, looking at him again before figuring what harm could it be. He moves their hands to unbuckle Darby’s seatbelt and pulls him into his lap gently, pushing back his seat to make room for them. “You’re not alone little skeleton…” he pulls him closer, pressing against him in hopes that will ground him more.</p><p>Darby doesn’t know what the fuck is going on until he feels the warmth under him, immediately curling against it and burying his face into what he thinks might be gingers neck. His tears stream down the other man's skin and are absorbed by his shirt, breath hitching still, only muffled by his lips being pressed against gingers skin. He slides his hands out, wrapping them around the other man and latching onto his shirt tightly, trembling against him.</p><p>As soon as his hands are free Jon wraps his arms around Darby in return, holding him tight and rubbing his back gently in an attempt to calm him. His chin lays gently on the smallers head, quietly humming a song he long forgot the name of, but the melody stuck with him through the years, one of the more helpful things to calm him down. Something he hopes works for the one in his arms. A little later he feels the shaking subside a bit, a few trembles but nowhere near the level it was at earlier. “Would it help to talk about it little skeleton?” He asks softly. </p><p>He can’t tell if it was minutes or hours later but eventually Darby starts getting himself under control again, able to crawl towards the land of the living. He’s not exactly there yet, in fact he still has a ways to go before he can qualify as a functional human again, but it's leagues better than where he was. “No.” He mumbles, managing to get his breathing mostly steady again and form semi-coherent thoughts again. Which is a fairly big accomplishment considering he wasn’t able to string together anything earlier.</p><p>The answer brings Jon to his next dilemma. Obviously emo kid isn’t in any shape to be driven anywhere considering he’s 99% sure that’s what brought on the… issues in the first place. But they can’t just stay on the side of the road in a thunderstorm for hours until morning comes. Maybe he can get the kid to fall asleep, it probably won’t be that hard given how exhausted he looks in his lap, but that raises the question of how to get him into his motel room. He sighs internally, maybe in that case he would just need to take him home with him, though that even assumes he’d be able to drive anywhere. “If you’re tired you can sleep.” </p><p>“N-no I can’t. I can’t.” Darbys voice quivers, looking up at ginger with puffy and exhausted eyes, but alert as ever. There’s no way in hell he could fall asleep, being trapped in a car in the dark even with it being still, he’s still too on guard to relax. He blinks away a few tears, no longer sure if they just never stopped from earlier or if he’s so tired he can’t help but cry. He tries to wipe them away with his arm, but they refuse to respond to his requests, still locked in on gingers shirt with an iron grip. So he settles for wiping his face on the shoulder of his shirt instead, it doesn’t really dry his eyes considering the fabric is soaked but it makes him somewhat able to see again.</p><p>“I hate to ask you Darby… but do you think you could handle a little more driving? We can’t stay here until morning, I don’t trust the road not to flood since I don’t know how long the storm will last.” The rain hadn’t relented in the time they had been stopped, and the area of road they’re on currently is somewhat prone to flooding. Jon really hates that he has to ask, he wishes he didn’t have to and they could stay there until morning, but he doesn’t want to die and get skeleton killed, so he has to. </p><p>Pretty much all the progress Darby thought he made in the past few minutes completely undid itself when ginger breached the idea of having to continue. He can’t do it, he would rather skate in the thunderstorm, fuck he would rather risk drowning if it meant he didn’t have to drive anymore. He knows that's selfish of him, possibly killing ginger to avoid driving in the dark, but he can’t do it. If he had to leave ginger he doesn’t know if he would be able to cling to the world, he knows he’s barely holding on as it is. His head jerks violently, heart beating out of his chest as his breathing turns ragged again.</p><p>Jon immediately holds him tighter, rubbing his back and trying to get him to calm down again, “fuck kid… I’m sorry I asked.” He mumbles even though he has no clue if he can hear him at this point or if he’s too far gone. At this point Jon realizes he has to make a decision for them both, Darby isn’t going to get any better in this situation and more time spent in the spot puts them at more risk for being rained in. A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he tries to think through the options before settling on one, “I’m so sorry Darby… really… I’m so so sorry…” he whispers as he removes one arm from around the shaking man, hesitantly putting it on the steering wheel.</p><p>Darby doesn’t know what’s happening anymore, and that’s definitely for the best. But it’s not enough obliviousness, he’s still aware it’s nighttime which means it’s dark. And he’s still in a car. So it's not great and he really wants to be anywhere else. Even the fact he’s in gingers lap doesn’t make it any better. He wants to pass out, be unaware of anything going on and wake up tomorrow with all of this a lingering haunting nightmare, but his brain won’t let him. Forcing him to stay on guard and memorize every detail possible with what he’s able to take in.</p><p>The removed arm luckily doesn’t draw any reaction, Jon doesn’t know what he would do were the man in his arms to notice what was going on. He really hopes no police officers come around, he can’t afford to get arrested with emo kid in such bad shape. “I’m sorry little skeleton…” he whispers against his ear before slowly driving again, going a lot slower than he would usually in hopes that doesn’t disturb Darby too much. This time he turns off the road in the direction of his apartment, not trusting the kid to be alone and he doesn’t want to be in a shitty motel all night watching over him.</p><p>Just feeling himself start to move sends his heart racing, pounding out of his chest as his breathing quickens again. A few tears well in his eyes, he doesn’t know why ginger is driving again, doesn’t he get the message that Darby can’t handle it? His body shakes, hands desperately grabbing the back of gingers shirt as he buries his face in his neck again, trying to block everything out. His eyes slowly fall shut before he forces them back open, struggling weakly against the arm around him but he’s too disoriented to make any sort of effective move to escape, the limb forcing him to stay put. </p><p>The guilt gnaws at Jons stomach like a starving lion feasting on an antelope, it's something he knows will be with him for years to come, if not a lifetime. He barely knows the man in his lap, but he knows he doesn’t deserve any of the hurt that’s being inflicted on him at the moment. All he hopes is Darby can forgive him one day. The struggles break his heart more, shattering it as if it was pottery thrown at the wall at full strength, but he forces himself to keep going. “Hold on skeleton… only another few minutes and you’ll be safe…” </p><p>Darby keeps fighting with all the strength in his wrecked body, not that much strength at all. He doesn’t know if he could lift his gear bag at this point, so there’s no way he can escape gingers hold. But he does as much as he can to do it until his body finally gives in and he collapses against his chest. Sobs wrack his body again as he tries to cling to consciousness, clawing desperately while slipping into the minefield of sleep, yet his efforts lay wasted. Unconsciousness claims him into her arms and Darby sleeps, but even here the sounds of tires squealing and metal on metal haunt him, memories clinging like a shroud he can’t get rid of.</p><p>Finally the man goes limp and Jon breaths a quiet sigh of relief. It’s going to be a nightmare later when the kid wakes up and he has to face what he did, but Jon’s good at compartmentalizing. He can keep those thoughts aside for now, concentrating on getting the man somewhere safe. The steady pound of the rain on the car and the warmth on his chest makes him almost relax until the wetness of his shirt collar brings him back to reality and his heart sinks more. </p><p>A long ten minutes later Jon pulls into the parking lot of the apartment complex he lives in, parking his car in his spot and turning off everything but the lamp resting in the divide between seats. He looks down at Darby and his heart softens a little, the kid rubbed him the wrong way but now he’s not that bad. The only thing he wishes is he figured that out from a different situation, the way he found out isn’t great. But at least emo boy looks somewhat peaceful in sleep, he hopes demons aren’t haunting his mind. </p><p>Now the issue of getting them both up to his apartment. Jon sighs and checks his pockets for his apartment keys, relieved to find them and glad he put them in his pants this time rather than keeping them in his bag. Because there’s no way he could get skeleton and his gear to the room in one trip. His arms ache from the match he had, and he really doesn’t want to use them again because he knows it will leave him extremely sore the next day, but small discomforts are far from repentance from what he did, and he feels like he deserves it. So he bites the bullet and opens the car door, shifting Darby so he can better carry him and climbs out.</p><p>The rain pounds down on him as he tries to shield the smaller body in his arms, keeping him mostly dry from the storm as he shuts the car door and locks it before darting under the overhang and to the entrance of the building. He shifts Darby to one arm and pulls open the door, taking him inside and calling the elevator to take them up the six flights to his apartment. Usually he takes the stairs but there’s no fucking way he’s walking up that many stairs with an added body, and he doesn’t want to risk waking him up. So once the elevator doors open he heads inside, pushing the button and waiting for it to take him up.</p><p>To his pleasant surprise there’s no shitty music this time, he doesn’t know why, but he’s not going to question it. At least one thing’s going right in this fucking mess of a day. Once the doors reveal the correct floor, Jon walks out and over to his door, balancing Darby on his hip again to get the keys in the handle, swinging it open to reveal the dark cramped place. He sighs quietly and walks in, not bothering to turn on the lights since he assumes it would wake the other man, and he doesn’t want to do that. He kicks the door closed behind him, careful to not make much noise.</p><p>Jon sighs softly and maneuvers around the rickety table in the hall, cradling the others head to his chest to shield it from the door frames. He walks into his room and gently lays him on the bed, carefully unwrapping the limbs strung around him and placing them under the blankets. Figuring teen angst deserves to be comfortable after the ordeal Jon put him through. He waits there a few moments, checking the kid doesn’t wake up before leaving him alone to sleep. But first he digs out a nightlight from a drawer and plugs it in by the bed, hoping that would help him if he woke up in a panic. </p><p>Only just remembering to grab some clean boxers and a shirt, Jon makes his way to the shower and tugs off his clothes, stepping under the spray of water and washing away the ring. The water pounds his sore muscles, not enough to provide any relief from the discomfort but it’s probably better than nothing. He yawns and quickly washes himself, stepping out of the shower and drying off enough to not be completely soaking when he pulls on the clean clothes. He brushes his teeth -hes not a fucking monster- and walks out to his couch, collapsing on it. He didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as emo kid, figuring it would just freak him out. The pillows get arranged under his head as he pulls the blanket over him, shifting into a comfortable position before he loses himself to sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darby’s eyes blink open, sunlight streaming through ratty curtains and revealing… not his motel room. It’s somewhat cramped, a messy desk and dresser taking up almost all the available space outside of the bed, but not in a bad way, it almost feels comfortable. Or at least it would, if he knew where the fuck he was. His heart picks up speed and his breathing quickens, worried ginger was one of those freaks that kidnapped helpless people and took them back to his dungeon. But he starts to relax when he realizes he isn’t chained down and the door’s cracked an inch open, not confiding him to that one room.</p><p>Wait- ginger. Jon. Whatever the fuck his name is. Where is he? Darby doesn’t know much, but he knows that's who he was last with before his mind went blank, so it’s as good a lead as any. He shoves off the blankets and sits up, stretching his back out and feeling the satisfying pop, allowing tension he didn’t realize he had in his body to leave and relax him. Once he gets his legs untangled from the blankets he swings them off the bed, getting up and fighting the urge to look around the room. He doesn’t want to invade gingers privacy too much, especially considering he’s staying in the same room. </p><p>A glance at the clock tells him it’s 11:45am, he’s shocked for a moment before remembering he’s in a different time zone, and it suddenly makes sense. Darby quietly opens the door and makes his way out and into the main room, spotting the sleeping man on the couch, a tuft of hair peeking out from the blanket cocooning him. A small smile crosses his face, he thinks it’s really cute, but also feels a bit of guilt at making ginger sleep there considering it’s (he’s fairly sure) his apartment. </p><p>Darby yawns and checks a few doors before finding the bathroom, using it before stopping to look at himself in the mirror. His face is completely bare, leaving him vulnerable. The safety blanket his face paint allows him is completely gone, exposing his emotions for the world to see. He feels a little bad with what he’s going to do, but he’s bothered ginger enough for a lifetime, especially thrusting him into such a spot and trying to take care of him last night. So it might be for the best.</p><p>Plan in mind, Darby makes his way back to gingers room, quietly as not to wake him, and makes up the bed, removing any trace he was there. After that he heads to the main room again, being as careful as possible to not make noise, and finds a pen and scrap paper. He thinks for a moment before scribbling something down on it and leaving it where ginger will probably see it, pausing to take one last look at him. A sudden urge to kiss his forehead washes over Darby but he pushes it down, thinking that would border on creepy even if he never found out.</p><p>So he lets that slide and walks to the door, locking it before pulling it shut. Once outside he panics, he has no idea where his gear and skateboard is to get back to the motel, or even where the fuck to go so he can get back. He curses himself, he shouldn’t have locked the door, ginger knows what to do and how to get around, not Darby. But it's too late now, and he’s not going to wait outside the door until ginger wakes up and decides to leave his apartment. He’ll just have to figure out how to make it work in some other way.</p><p>First things first, he needs to get to ground level. He looks around and finds the stairwell, walking towards it and sliding down the railing of a few flights of stairs. What, it's not like he wants to walk all those stairs, and he’s done this before, he’s not going to get hurt from it. Okay, maybe it hurts a bit, especially in his ribs, but it’s nothing serious and he can fight through the pain. Once on ground level, Darby stops, really not sure of what to do next. Well, it can’t hurt to try and see if the car’s unlocked, right? Now all he has to do is figure out which one it is and hope it doesn’t cause him to get another attack. Simple. </p><p>Luckily there aren’t many cars in the parking lot, and Darby instantly picks out the one he was in last night. Approaching it slowly, his heart rate picks up against his will. He pushes down the anxiety as best he can and tugs on the handle of the driver's seat, not expecting it to open and reveal the inside of the car. His eyes widen and he swallows down a spark of panic from climbing inside the front a bit awkwardly to grab his gear and skateboard. Only relaxing once he extracts himself from the car, he locks it from the inside before shutting the door. Just because he wants to be as far away from it as possible doesn’t mean he’s a monster.</p><p>He runs away from the car to the other side of the parking lot before setting his bag down and thinking. He has no idea where to go, no clue what direction would take him anywhere, and he’s not eager to ask a stranger for directions. Simply looking at the road in both directions does nothing to let him know where he is and a sigh escapes his mouth. Well, he might as well try one direction and see how that works out. So Darby shoulders his bag and gets on his board, taking off left and hoping that’s the correct way to get back to somewhere he finds familiar.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>The thick haze of sleep slowly raises from Jon and he grumbles, not at all eager to wake up. He still feels exhausted, eyes blearily cracking open but immediately closing again, limbs heavy like there’s a hundred pounds covering them and pinning them in place. Really, he would like nothing more than to turn over and go back to sleep, and that’s what he would have done were it any other day. But he remembers Darby in the other room, and that wakes him up enough to get coherent thoughts back. He needs to check on him, make sure he’s alive and (he hopes) a bit more mentally stable. </p><p>With that goal in mind Jon reluctantly takes off the blankets, tossing them to the other side of the couch and getting up, finally stretching out his legs again. He’s glad he got a large couch, it’s not big enough for him to fully stretch out on to sleep but it's a hell of a lot better than standard couches. Another yawn escapes as he rubs his eyes, walking with only a slight tired sway back to his room. His eyes narrow in confusion, the door’s wide open and he distinctly remembers mostly closing it last night, but maybe Darby just got up and went back to bed. After all he didn’t hear him leave and he’s not a super heavy sleeper, so he should know if the kid was up. </p><p>Upon walking in he stops, tilting his head and staring at the neatly made bed, only a few smears of white and black paint on the pillow indication anyone else was there. He slowly walks over to the bed as if it was a dangerous animal and rests his hand on it, finding it cold. So the kid left a while ago and he never noticed, great. He checks the time, finding it’s 1 in the afternoon. Jon’s a bit shocked, he never sleeps that long, but his not waking up from Darby leaving clearly tells him he has a lot to learn about his sleeping habits.</p><p>He makes his way back to the main area and sits on the couch again, wondering where the kid is and hoping he’s safe. It hurts him a little to know he didn’t stick around for long, yet he doesn’t know why. Usually he doesn’t care if someone he brought back abandons him, he’s had enough one night stands to make him apathetic to that sort of thing, but this time it was different. Maybe because of the circumstances, how vulnerable Darby was. A piece of paper catches his eye on the table, shaking him out of his thoughts, and he picks it up, reading what it says. </p><p> </p><p><em> ‘ </em> <em> Ginger </em> <em> , </em> (it’s scratched over a few times but Jon can still read what it says), <em> Jon. </em> </p><p>
  <em> Thanks for taking care of me, maybe see you around sometime. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> - Darby’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yet another sigh escapes Jon and he tosses the paper down, setting his head in his hands, rubbing his face. His elbows rest on his knees, feeling utterly helpless. He doesn’t even know when the other would have left, completely in the dark about where he would be at the moment. It makes him feel even worse knowing the kid probably has no idea where to go from here seeing as he’s from out of town and was unconscious for the drive back. Jon can only hope Darby was able to find directions to get back somewhere safe. He wishes emo boy just stayed until he woke up, fuck he wouldn’t care if he woke him up, at least then he would know he was okay and could take him back to his motel safely. But he doesn’t have the luxury of information. And that hurts more than his ribs. </p><p>Jon lingers on it for a few minutes, still thinking about the skeleton man and if he got back safely, until his stomach makes itself known and demands food. He pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to the small kitchen, pulling out a pan and heating it on his stove while pulling out a pack of bacon from his fridge along with some eggs. Setting the containers on the counter, he waits until the skillet heats before laying in a good amount of bacon, cracking in two eggs next to it.</p><p>He sets a timer for everything to cook before going to put the rest of the things back in the fridge. While waiting for his food he scrolls through his email, making a mental note to reply to one of them, even though he knows he’ll probably forget about it in an hour and it’ll be left untouched. At the buzz of the timer, he flips the bacon and checks the eggs, setting the timer again so he doesn’t burn anything. He checks when he needs to go in for work, he still has like nine hours until he needs to be there, not bad.</p><p>Once his food’s ready he takes it off the heat and slides it onto his plate, setting the pan off the heat on the stove to cool down and leaning against the counter to eat. He stares out the window as he eats, trying to get teen angst out of his head, there’s nothing he can do now. It would be best to just forget about the entire encounter, push him away until he’s just a memory slipping away and through the cracks. </p><p>Until he remembers Darbys things were in his car, he never got them out since he assumed the other man would be there when he got up. Jon curses, quickly eating the rest of his food and going to his room to pull on some jeans. Grabbing his keys on his way out he tries the door, finding it locked. His head tilts, he doesn't remember locking the door, in fact he remembers it wasn’t locked because he couldn’t lock it with the kid in his arms and he was too tired to go all the way to the door again. Darby must have locked it on his way out. Jon sighs and unlocks it, leaving the apartment and going down to the parking lot.</p><p>He approaches his car and tries the handle, also finding that locked much to his surprise. Jon distinctly remembers not being able to lock that either, so Darby must have been there. It only reinforces that idea when he sees the skateboard and gear bag gone from the back. Even though it’s futile he looks around the parking lot and at the sidewalks leaving the area, scanning for a figure riding a skateboard, not finding any. He sighs and unlocks the car, getting his gear bag out and locking it again before taking it up to his apartment. A part of him longing for the skeleton man, but he does his best to push that down. Though it still weighs at his heart no matter how hard he tries to stop feeling. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>Darby groans and gets off his skateboard, totally and utterly lost. None of the buildings around look familiar, and he doesn’t know where the fuck to go from there. In hindsight, he should have stopped after a mile or so of having no clue where he was, but he was stubborn. And now it’s too far to skate back in the other direction to see if that was the correct way. All he can hope for is he isn’t too far off course, maybe he missed a few turns and that’s it, at least something in skating distance for the night.</p><p>His pride takes a blow as he walks to the gas station nearby, needing to ask for directions back to at least the building he wrestled in yesterday. From there he remembers the way back well enough, he just has to get somewhere he can vaguely recognize, or at least a sign pointing him in the correct direction. Skateboard tucked securely under his arm, he picks out an energy drink from the fridges and grabs himself a few protein bars, stomach growling since he hasn’t eaten in over twelve hours. Too awkward to steal any food from ginger, and not wanting to stick around to make him food. He walks up to the counter and drops the things there, the cashier lazily ringing it up.</p><p>“That’ll be ten dollars,” she mutters, face saying she would clearly rather be anywhere but there. The typical face of anyone working in the service industry, really. It’s something Darby wouldn’t ever have the patience or people skills for, even if it was mostly glaring at customers everyday. Darby nods and pulls the money out from his pocket, setting it on the counter and waiting for her to put it in the register so he can take the things.</p><p>“Uh, do you know how to get to the motel on route 90? I’m visiting here and got lost.” He mumbles and shoves the things in his pockets, careful to not puncture the can or shake it up too much. The cashier gives him a stare for a moment before sighing and nodding, probably wondering why he doesn’t use his phone. Well, Darby’s phone is dead, he was too out of it to charge it and in too much of a rush in the morning to charge it, not to mention his charger was in his motel room which he didn’t have access to. </p><p>“Go left about half a mile then take another left, there’s a giant tree split in two there, then on that road you’ll see the exit to route 90. There’s tons of motels on there, I have no clue which one you’re staying at so I can’t direct you from there.” She glances up at him, “good luck finding your way back.” A faint smile and Darby nods, giving her a thumbs up before leaving the store, once outside putting down his skateboard and taking off.</p><p>As he rides he opens one of the bars, shoving it into his mouth and sighing in relief, finally getting some food into his body which desperately needed it. It doesn’t take him much time to finish it, shoving the wrapper back into his pocket and taking out the energy drink. He stops for a moment to crack it open, taking a swig of it before starting to skate again. A few minutes later, alternating between skating and drinking, he reaches the tree the woman talked about, taking the left turn and looking out for any sort of exit signs. Only now realizing she never told him how far to go, so he just keeps skating.</p><p>Fairly soon he finishes his energy drink, also shoving the can back into his pocket since he doesn’t have anywhere else to put it. Another bar gets taken out, ripped open, and consumed, or at least half of it is before Darby notices the turn off for route 90 and diverts his attention to not getting lost. It’s happened before, he gets too in his head while skating and tunes out the world a bit too long and he ends up a mile away from where he intended to go. He can’t risk it this time, not with already being lost and the aches returning to his bones, somewhat staved off from the sleep he got but desperately needing more rest. Somewhere along the entrance he regrets not taking any ibuprofen at ginger's apartment. </p><p>Once at the freeway, he stops and looks around, the fact he has no clue which way to turn slapping him in the face. He absolutely doesn’t want to pick the wrong direction and have it take hours more to get to his bed, his eyes are already closing too much than is probably safe and he needs to get some rest. While glancing down the freeway, he sees a red building that he thinks he passed on his way to the arena the previous day, and he shrugs, figuring that's as good a lead as any. And with that he turns his board in the direction of what he hopes is the motel and skates off, doing his best to remain upright and semi-alert. </p><p>The universe must be on Darby’s side this time (for once in his fucking life) because after fifteen or so minutes he spots the motel, his mind already imagining how nice it will be to fall asleep in bed. Sure, the sheets are really scratchy, and there are all sorts of mysterious stains he’s not eager to find out about, but it’s still a place to sleep that's not someone else's so he’ll take it. He still feels vaguely dirty for sleeping in ginger’s bed, as if he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Well, he shouldn’t have been there, he should have been in the motel, but it’s a metaphorical he shouldn’t have been there. </p><p>His body works on autopilot from there, as if he’s a marionette with a puppeteer tugging at his limbs, and the next few minutes pass in a blur. Before he knows, he’s standing in the shower and rinsing all the sweat off from the match last night and the long trip back to the apartment. The water’s freezing and the pressure is practically nonexistent, but it feels wonderful, the aches dulling for the time being. All too soon Darby figures he needs to leave before he gets hypothermia and he turns off the water, grabbing the ratty towel to dry himself off. He pulls on a  pair of boxers and sweatpants before his body steers itself to the bed to collapse and fall asleep.</p><p>The headlights follow him through his dreams, the crashing of metal and the screams fill his ears every direction he turns, no way out. He thrashes around in the bed, blankets tangling around his legs before they’re inevitably pushed off the bed altogether, but that doesn’t wake him, nothing does. The claws of nightmares sink deep in his skin with no intention of letting go, holding him captive and forcing him to stay in their realm. Silent screams tear from his throat but no noise escapes, the man held captive in his dreamscape as tears run down his cheeks. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>Jon purposefully doesn’t think of the skeleton boy who mysteriously disappeared while he was asleep- okay that's complete bullshit. He can’t even lie to himself for more than ten seconds. Everything he does reminds him of the kid. Something as mundane as cleaning the dishes he used for breakfast lets his mind wander enough to hope emo kid made it back to his motel safely; putting his ring gear and other clothes in the washer in the building basement forces him to see the face paint smudges left on his shirt. He searches for something, anything, to take his mind off the skeleton boy who could very well be a figment of his imagination if it weren't for the face paint on his shirt. But nothing comes, he can't even use his normal distraction method of punching something because his body is still sore from the match.</p><p>While waiting for his clothes he sits in the corner, getting out a book he's in the middle of reading and opening it to the correct page. But not even reading can take his mind off the emo kid, Jon can't focus and the words swim off the page. Now, any normal person would regret meeting someone who made them like this, he should regret meeting him. But Jon's never been normal, and he's not about to start now. No matter how much he knows he'll never see the kid again, he doesn't regret meeting him, no not at all. Nothing would take away from that. </p><p>He can only imagine what it would have been like if only he woke up before emo boy, how he would have made sure he was safe and not get lost on his way to the motel. But it's no use, what's done is done and nothing he can do can change that. Jon doesn't make a habit of lingering on what if's, but he thinks he's allowed to do it once. Until his clothes come out of the washer, then he can push all of it into a box and tuck it neatly into the depths of his mind, never to be unearthed again. </p><p>The ding of the washer couldn't come soon enough, yet he could have spent an eternity thinking about the skeleton. True to his promise, he fashions a box in his mind and throws everything into it, no matter how painful it is to part with. The box gets chained shut and pushed as far back as it can go; he knows any closer to the front of his mind would tempt him to re-open it and live the memories again. He also knows any reopening of the box makes it thousands of times more difficult to close, and considering how hard it was to close in the first place he doesn't know if he would be able to close it once more. With that, he takes his clothes from the washer and brings them up to his apartment, focusing on something else, anything else.</p><p>He passes the rest of the day doing mundane things he had been putting off for a while, things like cleaning, meal prepping, and stretching out as much as he can to limit his soreness. It's unfortunate he had a difficult match last night, he's not going to have a fun time at work because of it, but he can't complain too much. Wrestling is one of the few joys left in his life, and he's going to take every opportunity he can to wrestle no matter the other consequences. Body on autopilot, he goes through various stretches and gets himself loose enough to work all night. It's a 50/50 shot how busy it will be, some Sundays are practically dead due to everyone preparing for work on Monday, other Sundays are wild with people enjoying their last free night for the next 4 days. </p><p>When it strikes 9:45pm, Jon takes his keys and leaves the apartment, going down to his truck and driving to the club. Entering through the back door, he checks in with the owner and takes his place at the entrance of the club, counting down the last few seconds before the doors open to the public and he won't have a moment to himself until his shift ends in seven hours. There's just enough time for a roll of his shoulders and crack of his neck until the doors open.</p><p>His world turns from calm to a whirlwind in the blink of an eye, taking his place checking ID's and waving people through, turning others aside. Luckily, most people are intimidated by his size and muscles so not many people try to get through after they get turned aside, making for a fairly easy night. After a few hours, the wave of people calms down and he can take a moment to breathe, the cool air sharpening his senses once again and preparing him for the next people to approach. </p><p>It's then when a flash of white catches his eye, drawing his attention to a smaller man who looks vaguely familiar, but Jon doesn't know why. He feels like he's seen him before, but the boy isn't local nor is he on the blacklist in the employee room. It could just be a face similar to one he's imagined before, it's happened to him and wouldn't be out of the question for it to happen again. But a glance at the boys fingers tells him everything he needs to know, and realization slaps him across the face. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>Darby isn't one for clubs, alcohol, sweaty people, lots of noise, none of it is in any way appealing to him. But he's running out of money and it's not like he can get a job for one night, so hustling people at the pool table it is. He hopes he can get a good chunk of cash in his pocket for the night as even though his flight was paid for and he was earning money from last night, it wasn't a lot and he needs to get more money to justify the trip. He shoves off the lingering exhaustion, forcing himself out of bed and pulling on a new pair of clothes so he can go out.</p><p>He doesn't bother applying face paint, in his experience it's drawn too much attention to himself at clubs, and while he regrets leaving his safety blanket, feeling naked without it, the goal is to not get any attention whatsoever. Get in and out before people realize he hustled them then bounce to another club to repeat the process. Besides it's not like he's going to see anyone he recognizes, or more importantly recognizes <em> him </em>, after all he's a stranger in a strange land and the odds are so slim of anything familiar. It does him well in this instance, back home none of the clubs will let him in anymore from his issues. </p><p>His hand runs through his hair, pushing it around until he looks in the mirror and sees someone who is of age and allowed to be in the club. That's the only problem with being a broke wrestler from a very young age, he's legally not allowed to be in a club. Not like that's going to stop him, or has ever stopped him in the past, but it's still important he doesn't get caught and thrown in jail. Or worse, he gets fined and has to pay money he doesn't have to a city he doesn't live in for a minor crime. </p><p>A quick search on his phone shows him where the closest club to him is, and he smirks when he sees it's in the perfect time to hustle. People have been there long enough to get drunk, but not long enough to run out of money or be too drunk and have to be thrown out. He puts his phone in his pocket and leaves the room, locking it behind him and setting his board on the ground and starting off in the direction of the club.</p><p>A block away he stops himself, finding a bike rack and digging a chain and padlock from his pocket to tether his board to the rack. Of course it's a hassle when someone's chasing him for hustling them, but it's more annoying to replace a board for the third time in two weeks because someone found it and decided to steal it. Skateboard secure, he walks the rest of the way to the entrance of the club, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the bouncer.</p><p>It's just his luck ginger is the bouncer for the night, a reminder things had been going too well and the universe wanted to fuck him over yet again. Hopefully ginger doesn't recognize him, it's not likely he would since Darby was barely a blip in his life, and his distinctive facepaint is gone. So odds are he'll be able to slip by unnoticed, make his money, and get out of there. Unfortunately, there's not a group around where he can blend in with and breeze past ginger, so he'll have to risk going in on his own. Taking a moment to gather his courage, he squares his shoulders and walks up to the door, pointedly ignoring ginger.</p><p>"Wait a second, is that you Darby?" Ginger asks, a hesitant and uncertain yet demanding voice, and Darby wishes he could just push through and pretend like he didn't hear him. But he knows how big ginger is, how easily he manhandled him last night, so he doesn't think it's the best idea. With a sigh he turns around and begrudgingly nods.</p><p>"Yes, it's me. Can you let me go now?" He mumbles, hoping he sounds a lot more confident than he actually is. Just hearing gingers voice takes him back to the night before, a faint pink covering his cheeks before he forces it down. He bites his bottom lip nervously, eyes darting up at him then back to the ground, hoping the other man doesn't notice.</p><p>"Kid, you're not old enough to be here." Darby bites down a curse, regretting he even tried to approach in the first place. He should've just stopped when he recognized ginger and gone to another club, but the stubborn streak in him said no, and he's paying for it now. </p><p>"Of course I'm old enough, why would I be here if I wasn't." A slight edge to his words which he immediately regrets, he knows he sounds too defensive, too childish. He sees the wheels turn in gingers mind, reading the tone of the words and his body language to determine whether he was truthful or not, Darby glances inside the club, hoping it's crowded enough for him to disappear in the crowd. Pretending to listen to ginger, Darby waits a moment until ginger is slightly distracted before shoving his arm aside and darting into the club.</p><p>Or at least he tries to do that, but he forgot how fast wrestler reactions were. Instead of in a mob of people, he feels himself shoved against the wall and pinned against it, stuck between the brick and gingers chest. Which, if Darby's being honest, is like a brick wall, so it's more like he's stuck between two brick walls. He wets his lips and defiantly looks up at ginger, staring into harsh eyes and fighting the urge to submit to him. No matter what his instincts say, how the other man is a lot larger than him, and he shouldn't make more trouble for him after what he did last night, Darby's never given up in his life and he's not about to give up now. </p><p>"Get out of here kid," ginger growls, but the words go in one ear and out the other. It's not Darbys fault his mind is wandering, a really hot guy is pressed up against him and glaring down at him, giving him his full attention. His mouth goes dry and he smirks faintly, savoring the feeling of the man touching him, everywhere their bodys are in contact burning, but he nods and all too soon ginger steps away.</p><p>Darby sighs and turns away, acting like he's a good boy who's following the rules. As soon as gingers guard drops though, he turns on his heel and darts into the club, wrestling instincts making him a split second faster than a normal person. But it slipped his mind once again that ginger was a wrestler, and all that strength comes into play when Darby feels himself get punched across the face as hard as possible.</p><p>His head jerks to the side and he yelps, body spinning a little and tensing himself up in anticipation for another hit, body shifting into a defensive stance. However nothing comes. His eyes slowly open and he looks at ginger who's staring at him like he saw a ghost and his hand to his cheek in the same position Darby's jaw is throbbing. </p><p>"You… you're my soulmate…" a breathless whisper, barely loud enough for Darby to hear. His eyes widen and he shakes his head, rubbing his jaw and glaring at him. Great, just his luck when he finds a hot guy he's one of those soulmate believing assholes. Because life couldn't be easy for Darby now could it. At least he won't have to see him again, he'll be going home the next day and he doesn't have to think about this ever again.</p><p>"Fuck off, there's no such thing as soulmates," he spits, glaring at him hard enough to send a normal person a hundred feet under, but ginger barely flinches. It would be all too easy to slip past ginger and make his way into the club, but the soulmate bullshit left a sour taste in his mouth. So Darby does what he should have done before this whole shitstorm went down, turns on his heel and leaves.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon stands there in shock. Every fiber of his being pushing him, burning to say something and <em> make emo boy see </em> , he's his soulmate. But his legs stubbornly refuse to move, anchoring him to that spot.  Forcing him to watch as his soulmate walks away. It's a worse pain than anything else he's experienced, not even any of the injuries imparted on him by his soulmate- by the skeleton boy- by <em> Darby </em>. Because he can deal with the physical pain. He can't deal with his heart being ripped out of his chest and thrown to the wolves. </p><p>The rest of his shift goes by with his body in autopilot, eyes glazing over everything, brain covered in thick layers of fog, the fractured shards of his heart piercing his soul. He blinks back tears as best he can, forcing them not to fall until his body gets the hint that he can't cry. Then the emptiness sets in, there's physically a gap in him where his soul should be. It's one of those things people don't realize they have until it's gone, growing so accustomed to it they take it for granted. Now Jon knows better, he can't rely on anything, not even his soul still being there. Because in the blink of an eye it can be yanked away and leave him broken, alone in the cruel world without a care.</p><p>The club now closed, Jon's left adrift with no purpose. He can't use work to take his mind off his soulmate anymore, and he knows it's going to consume him for the rest of the night. So he stops by the liquor store on his way home, needing something to distract him and let him sleep. Entering the store, he picks up two bottles of bourbon whiskey and takes them to the counter, paying the person working there and bringing them back to his apartment. He barely closes the door behind him before he kicks off his shoes and cracks open the first bottle, taking a swig from it.</p><p>No longer having enough energy to care about anything, much less his well being, he doesn't hold back. Over the years he's built up a rather high level of alcohol tolerance, and it takes a number of drinks to get him drunk, and usually at least an hour of drinking. However this time is an exception, it barely takes him half the time before he's stumbling around his apartment drunk off his ass, stumbling into things until he finally reaches his bed. The sight of paint on his pillow stops him in his tracks, even as drunk as he is the paint brings back terrible memories. The ache in his chest burns more than the next drink of whiskey he takes, and even in his intoxicated state he knows the box he carefully tucked away will never get closed again. </p><p>A white hot surge of anger flows through him and he grabs the pillow, ripping it to shreds and having the material cover his bed, throwing the shreds of pillowcase at the wall. He holds in a scream and punches the bed frame, pain springing to his fingers but it's nothing compared to what Darby did to him. He punches it again, a faint voice in his mind telling him to stop, that he's hurting Darby too. But he can't bring himself to care anymore, his soulmate already made his feelings quite clear, and now he's going to pay for them. </p><p>All too soon the exhaustion hits and he deflates, the anger leaving him alone in his room with cotton all over his bed, a half empty bottle of whiskey in hand, stinging hands, and an ache in his chest that will never go away. He slumps down on his bed, not caring about the mess on it, sets his whiskey on the bedside table, and Jon finally breaks. The hurt pours out of him, leaving him a sobbing mess, drifting in an ocean with no rescue in sight. Of all the things he expected as a child, being abandoned by the one person who was supposed to be his other half was never one of them.</p><p>Maybe it's naivety that made him believe soulmates were real, maybe they never existed to begin with. Of course Jon knows that's not true, soulmates exist, but it dulls the pain a little to think that nothing could be done about this. If only he fought harder, went after Darby, made him see how soulmates were true, maybe he wouldn't have this longing deep in his soul. A longing he knows nothing can ever replace. And it's not like he can just pick up everything and leave to hunt Darby down, he doesn't even know where he lives, or anything about him besides a name. Even if he knew where to find him, Jon doesn't have the money for that.</p><p>He finds himself clutching the other pillow, the clean one, to his chest, sobbing over it and imagining it was someone else there, that he wasn't alone in the world. Because he's alone now. He never had friends who stayed longer than a few months, never knew anyone well enough to care about them. He always held out hope for a soulmate to get to know, have one person tethering him to reality. But now he knows that won't ever happen, and he doesn't know what to do. Not that anyone knows what to do when everything they dreamed gets ripped out from under them with no way to get it back. </p><p>That's how he drifts off, finally exhaustion taking hold and leading him to the world of dreams.</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Jon doesn't know what woke him, just that something's wrong. He jerks upright and frantically looks around, but nothing is out of the ordinary. There's no intruder, no fire, no earthquake. Even the pain from the other day is gone, as if it never existed in the first place. A serene calm washes over him, everything is fine, he's not in pain anymore. </p><p>That's right when the panic sets in. He should still have the emptiness inside him, that longing deep within his soul for his other half. As fast as possible he kicks off the blankets, legs tangling in them for seconds that feel like hours before he stands up and rushes over to his laptop. Cursing under his breath he opens it and right on the front page of the news, everything clicks into place. Jon sinks to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he shakes his head, refusing to accept it. </p><p>No. There's no way this is happening. It can't happen. It just can't. He pinches his arm hard enough to draw blood and looks at the screen again, shaking his head and rocking back and forth on the ground. It can't be happening. But deep within himself he knows it's real. As real as the blood dripping down his arm he can barely feel anymore. And that hurts so much worse than the rejection.</p><p> </p><p>Because on the laptop screen is the headline "Plane from Cleveland to Seattle Crashes in Freak Accident", and among the dead is one Allin, Darby.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry.</p>
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